


Shower Streams

by accioambition



Series: Shower Streams [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Boxer Killian, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Teen Pregnancy, is that a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 89,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioambition/pseuds/accioambition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma's gone and messed up big time, but maybe the infamous Killian Jones can lend a hand...or at least a shoulder in her time of need. Lieutenant Duckling college AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, I've made the move to AO3 and, much like it happened on FF, this is going to be my guinea pig story. The only thing I plan on changing is grammar and spelling. Otherwise, it's the same. Enjoy!

The dorm bathroom was colder than the rest of the building, as per usual. But it was grayer, more bleak and unwelcoming today to Emma than ever.

Checking to make sure she was the only one present, she opened the stall on the farthest to the left, far away from the door to the hallway. Sitting on the toilet seat, she removed the cardboard box from under her shirt and stared at it for a moment.

How could it have possibly have come to this? One time, it was one time.

But then again, all it took was one time.

She ripped the flimsy cardboard flaps that covered the end of the box and took out the little stick of doom, purple on one end and white on the other.

"Well," she muttered to herself, "here goes nothing."

She stood up, lifted the toilet seat up, and shoved her pants down. The extra-large Pepsi she had drunk earlier was serving its purpose, and before her mind could really catch up to what she was doing, her body was doing it on autopilot. All those drug tests and medical exams she had to take in order to secure her housing had apparently made their impression on her.

Leaving the stall, she held the test in one hand and its container in the other. Before crumbling up the box, Emma read the directions, which said that a two to three minute wait would yield results. Too long a time, she thought as she wrapped it in paper towels and threw it in the trashcan. No one could know that she was going through a scare like this, not that they would particularly care.

She couldn't pace around the bathroom. It would be too nerve-wracking, especially with nobody to soothe her overactive imagination. The last time she was this nervous was when she was waiting for her driver's license results. At least then, her father had seen the horror in her eyes, the possibility of failing all too present in her expression. He had sat down on the hard plastic chair next to her and took her hand in his. Her knee was jiggling with nerves, but she rested her head against his shoulder. In response, he had given her hand a gentle squeeze.

That time, she recalled now, was met with a positive answer.

This time, she was hoping for the opposite.

A shower. That was the solution. A long, hot shower would take her mind off of this… this mess before her, at least for the time being. Sure, showering would make the wait longer than necessary, but maybe if she pushed the inevitable off enough, it would just become a dream, not a reality.

Putting the stick in her front pocket (Which end in her jeans? she debated. The half she peed on or the half that held her future?), she took a quick jaunt a couple doors down, grabbed her shower caddy and towel, and returned to the bathroom. Instead of going for a bathroom stall, she strayed behind the door to the room, to the shower stall no one used because it was behind the door. It also had a tendency to clog up, but Emma could have cared less. As long as she got to shampoo her hair and shave her legs, the stall could've been filled with piranhas.

She reached for the knobs, turning the one labeled hot all the way on while turning the cold one only a smidge.

The imminent threat of tears had her stripped of her clothes and into the jetstream in record time. Once in the flow of water, she couldn't tell the difference between the tears streaming down her face and the pellets of water hitting her from the shower head. She crouched down, palms to her face, letting the entire jet stream consume her shrunken form. This was pitiful. She was standing naked in the shower of her university's dorm wondering whether or not she was pregnant.

Involuntary sobs wracked her body, rendering her idea of procrastination useless. Nothing would get done if she couldn't even stand up. Realizing that, she screwed up enough energy to step out of the shower, forgetting to turn the mechanism itself off.

Emma took a seat on the small bench just outside the shower, throwing her towel over her shoulders. It didn't cover the majority of her soaked body, but it kept her sopping hair from making her even colder. She shuddered, from the circumstances or the temperature or both, she couldn't tell.

For ten minutes, she sat there crying, knees curled up so her forehead rested on them, eyes closed to avoid seeing her stomach, water still shooting out of the shower. The sounds of her sobs filled the bathroom with nothing but the streams hitting the shower floor to back them up. Inside her head, though, there was a full-on argument.

 _Just look at the test_ , she thought. _Then, you'll have an answer and move on with your life._

 _I can't,_ the other part of her conscience said. _I just can't._

_You're making yourself miserable. Get it over with. It's more than ready for you now._

_No…no, how could this have happened to me?_

_Nothing might have happened to you, but you'll never know until you look at the test!_

_I can't do it._

_Yes, you can._

_No, I can't._

_JUST DO IT FOR FUCK'S SAKE._

The gradually escalating internal debacle prevented Emma from hearing the creaking the door to the hallway always made when it was opened. So, naturally, when she heard a hesitant knocking on the shower stall door, she jumped.

"There's someone in here," she stammered hoarsely, unsuccessfully trying to hide her tears.

"I know," a low voice replied. "The water's been running for a half hour, lass. That's why I'm here."

Rubbing her hands across her face, Emma's curiosity got the better of her. Still unstable with shivers, she turned the knobs of the shower, finally cutting the steady streams of water off. The silence in the bathroom was heavy, but the situation was quickly remedied when by her shuffling to correctly wrap her towel around herself and the groan the shower door made when she finally opened it.

The person standing on the other side looked expectantly at her when she gasped. "You shouldn't be in here," she stated, looking behind him and around the room to see if anyone else was going to call him out on it.

"Yes, but you shouldn't leave the shower on," Killian responded smartly. "It's, you know, not green and whatnot."

Her search complete and realizing they were alone, another thought crossed her mind. "What are you doing here?"

What was he doing there? Sure, they lived down the hall from one another, but he and Emma never really had cause to interact with each other. She kept to herself in her room and her roommate Ruby was usually the only person she saw on a daily basis. Killian Jones was always busy being asshole-ish his teammates on the school's boxing team: out every night to drink until the stars saw the sun; conked out every day to recuperate for the next evening's festivities; and, every blue moon or so, actually going to classes, but only if nothing fun was happening that night. Oh, and practice. He wasn't nicknamed "The Hook" because of his affinity for coat hangers or his ability to fish, although she was sure that they both had merit.

No, Emma had seen the YouTube videos all the girls on her floor, in her building, on the entire campus fawned over at least once a week. The guy had an awfully respectable left hook, thus earning his famous moniker. He had a bunch of awards from high school and was already well on his way to doing the same here at their university. Factor in his Irish lilt and his striking features and he had every straight female and gay male throwing themselves at him.

"I wanted to make sure you hadn't drowned or been brutally murdered," he explained. He tilted his head to the side, as if he was just now realizing that her eyes were puffy, her hair wet, and her body enveloped in a towel. "Lass, what's the matter?" he asked quietly.

Emma sniffed. "Look, thanks for keeping an eye out for the planet and everything, but I don't need anyone to keep an eye out for me. It's none of your business." She went to slam the door in his face, but was met with resistance. His hand infamous for its punch halted the door in its path to smash his nose in.

"Now, now there, dear," he calmly soothed her. "I don't mean to pry—"

"That's exactly what you're doing," she interrupted.

An audacious small grin spread across Killian's face. She was a sassy one. He continued, "But I can safely say that enchanting girls like you don't spend their free time weeping in the shower stalls unless something is the matter." He invited himself into the small stall, careful not to brush up against Emma in case she lost her hold on her towel, and took a seat on the tiny bench.

Who did he think he was? Killian Jones might have been able to charm the pants off any given girl on this campus, but she was not interested in the least. Especially in her possibly precarious condition.

 _If you'd look at the fucking stick, you'd know whether or not it was precarious,_ that internal voice grumbled.

 _Shut up,_ the other one retorted.

He watched her expectantly, then patted the small space next to him. She frustratedly sighed, but heeded his suggestion. Pulling her the edges of her towel close enough to nearly suffocate her, she rearranged herself until she sat as comfortably as she could next to the boxer. She crossed her heels and squeezed her thighs shut. Loose legs like that had already gotten her in trouble.

_Or maybe not._

_Or maybe so._

Killian hesitantly patted her knee. "Go ahead, love. Lay your troubles out for an open ear," he insisted. He was really too close for her to be comfortable, but it didn't bother her as much as it should have. It was…nice.

Huh, she thought.

Leaning her head back against the stall wall, she closed her eyes and opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. The tears she had managed to suppress since the interaction had started began to sting behind her eyelids. Unconsciously, they started silently sliding down her cheeks.

He was taken aback. Sure, he was prepared for a talkative story that he could care less about, but tears? Weeping? Sobbing? Nope, he had not signed up for this.

But she was inaudible. The waterworks kept coming, getting steadier and steadier, but she didn't make a sound.

It broke his heart. He wasn't quite sure why, but it did.

"Lass, hey," he murmured. "Shhh, it's okay, you're okay." He kept comforting her as he turned his body as much as possible to embrace her. It was awkward, for sure, his one arm around her back while the other laid across her thighs, avoiding the bottom of her towel. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, hoping that the slow friction would calm her. Emma leaned her head, moving it from the wall to his shoulder. She mumbled something unintelligible into his neck.

"I know it might be rough, love, but I'm going to kindly request that you repeat yourself," he quietly ordered.

She took a quivering breath and gulped, "I don't think I am."

"Tell me," he whispered reassuringly. "Let me help you bear your cross, Emma."

The remainder of her composure crumbled at her own name. She started bawling, ugly snotty sounds coming from her nose, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. And Killian just held her, caressing her back and trying to placate her, but never saying a word. She just had to get it all out of her system. It was how his mother had always soothed him when he'd had his heart broken or had his fair share of troubles: a literal shoulder to cry on. And when he was ready to talk, gotten all the tears from their ducts, she had been there.

That's what he would do for Emma. He would be there.


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later, Emma was in dire need of water. All the tears she had shed that afternoon had dehydrated her more than she originally thought. She sniffled and snuffled a couple more times before raising her head from Killian's shoulder. He had surprised her by not running away and staying in the cramped stall the entire time, ceaselessly comforting her in some way or another.

Meeting his gaze, she smiled sadly. He responded in turn with an equally small smile.

"Tuckered out now?" he asked softly. She nodded. "Figured."

He began to loosen his grip on her, removing his arm from her thighs and sliding his arm around her shoulders back towards his body, but she placed her arm on the one that lay across her thighs to stop him. His eyes shot to the movement quickly, looking to her face to confirm that it was what she wanted. He could understand it: in such a fragile state, human contact was the best remedy.

Killian stayed quiet, waiting for her to gather her thoughts and start her story. Emma closed her eyes once more, inhaling deeply while he pushed the errant strands of damp hair away from her face. A gesture like that would usually have bothered her, been too familiar for someone as unfamiliar as him, but he had just coached her through the biggest breakdown of her life. Sy-he reckoned they were on that level.

"I'm scared," she admitted. "I am unbelievably, truly afraid."

A moment passed. When she didn't continue, he nudged her on.

"I think I'm pregnant."

To his credit, his eyes only widened a fraction and his jaw didn't drop to the ground. "How?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "I got a letter from the stork," she said sarcastically. "Did they not teach you where babies come from at home?"

Killian chuckled. "I probably dozed off during that class," he joked. "But you know that's not what I meant."

She sighed and reluctantly carried on. "I may or may not have hooked up with the boy's RA once…" she paused and winced, "or twice…" she winced again, "or more."

Comprehension dawned on his face, followed swiftly by confusion and dread.

"Neal? You mean Neal?" She nodded. He looked at the opposite wall for an instant, then focused his attention back to her. "Are you sure?"

Emma didn't respond at first, but then grabbed her jeans and shook her head. "I took a test about forty-five minutes ago and you're supposed to only have to wait two or three minutes for the results, but I couldn't stand that wait, so I made the really smart decision to drag it out for as long as possible and decided to take a shower, but then I had a meltdown and…" she finally took a breath, her entire body deflating, "now we're here." She shifted a little in order to better accommodate her change in position, causing Killian to modify his as well.

"So you haven't seen the results?" he asked lightly. She shook her head once more. "Would you think it rude if I inquired as to why?"

"I just told you," she exasperatedly said. "I'm afraid. I'm only seventeen, a freshman at a prestigious school. If some bigwig finds out I'm pregnant, I'll lose my housing for sure. Probably my classes and grades as well. Not to mention I'd have to deal with my parents." She was beginning to lose her cool, her voice becoming higher and a tad louder with every passing sentence. Her eyes look straight into his. "My parents still think I'm a virgin, and that I'm not stupid enough to not use a condom. And, I mean, we did use one the first couple of times, but then he ran out or something, some excuse, the last time, so we didn't. Oh my god." Facepalm. "I'm going to have to tell Neal. Oh my god, oh for fuck's sake, I'm going to have to tell Neal and he's not going to want to deal with me anymore, I just know it. He'll send me on my way, kick me out of the dorm, and they'll believe him because it's his third year as an RA, he's a senior, he's got a practically perfect score sheet."

Tears threatened to appear again, and she was beginning to hyperventilate.

"Head between your knees." Killian coax her into that position, stroking her back and shushing her as she breathed, in out, in out, until her breaths became even once more. A strong handle on the top of her towel, she whipped back to a regular seated position, nearly smacking him in the face with her hair.

"What am I going to do?" she whimpered. He curled his arm around her shoulders again and took the jeans she still held into his possession. Pulling her close, he squeezed her knee reassuringly.

"You, love, are going to take this one step at a time." He felt around in her pockets and found the shape of the pregnancy test outlined in one of the front ones. "First, you're going to find out if you've been fretting over nothing. And then, if you are pregnant, you're going to call your parents and tell them the entire story just like you did to me." She cringed at the idea of doing so; her mother would use her signature disappointed tone and her father would seethe at the ruined image of his perfect little girl. Although, now that she reflected on it, he'd probably believe it was all Neal's doing, and would proceed to strangle him.

She could be behind that plan.

"And after your parents know, you're going to call the health center to set up an appointment to check and be absolutely, one hundred percent sure," Killian's voice broke her out of her own mind. "The rest of the cards will fall as they may." He pulled her shoulders even closer to him in a sort of half hug, which was really awkward to both do and experience in a shower stall. He retreated as much as he could before removing his touch. The loss was surprisingly unwelcome, but the sight of Killian digging into her pocket was more unsettling.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. The expression on his face seemed like his actions were completely innocent.

"You don't want to look at the test," he stated, blatancy in his tone, "so I was going to look for you."

Emma was flabbergasted to say the least. Sure, she had been procrastinating at finding out the results that could possibly change her life forever, but that didn't mean he was welcome to interrupt it.

"Uhhh, sorry bud, but no," she stated. A curious countenance came over her facial features. "And who do you think you are, waltzing into the girl's bathroom to counsel me? Were you just hoping that I'd see you as such a gentleman, helping out the damsel in distress, and swoon when you noticed me?" she challenged. Pointing an accusatory finger at him, she growled "I bet you just wanted to get in my pants." Her eyes filled with shock, and she glanced down at her current state of dress. "Jesus, I'm in a fucking towel!" she yelled.

Killian snickered. "I do believe I had that same observation earlier in this conversation."

As menacingly as possible, she stood and snarled, "Get out." He stood as well, more slowly and kindly than she had.

"I came in here because I couldn't bear to hear you in such distress, Emma," he confessed completely straight-faced. "I know we haven't really had much interaction since we got here, but I wanted you to know that I have been keeping an eye on you." He simply shrugged. "You're different than everyone else here. A good different," he clarified when he saw the anger rising on her face. "I just couldn't find the right time to tell you."

She was deeply touched. No one had been that honest with her ever, not even her parents. Of course, now she was beginning to feel the tendrils of regret seep into her mind. He had honestly just wanted to help her because he was a gentleman.

He shuffled past her and out the door of the stall, still holding her pants. She cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. He glanced down at her jeans in his hands, then straight into her eyes and soul.

"I know I may come off as a cad at first, but I always put those important in my life first," he said calmly. "You know where I am if you need me. There will always be time for you, lass." He glimpsed down at her jeans before handing them back to her.

She took them from him, all her previous anger draining her body after an already exhausting hour or so. She took in his face once more, adorn with a small smile, but his eyes were trained on her jeans. She followed it to the test sticking out of her front pocket, results side out.

Two lines.

Positive.

And he knew.

Emma felt like she should have been emotional, but there was nothing left for her to give. Her jaw dropped just a little further down than normal.

 _Told you,_ the stupidly correct inner voice grumbled.

A creak broke her focus. When she looked up, Killian was gone and the door thunked to a close. She didn't even hesitant a full second. Grabbing her shower caddy and clothes, she hurried out of the bathroom after him, towel getup and all.

He knew, and he didn't rescind his offer to help. That was somewhere to start.


	3. Chapter 3

_Clothes. You need to put on clothes before anything else,_ she thought, stopping in the middle of the empty dorm hallway.

 _He's seen you in a towel,_ a more reasonable voice said.

Emma just shook her head, clearing away any and all thoughts that didn't propel her forward. Yes, she had just confirmed that she was pregnant and, yes, the douchecanoe from down the hall found out before she did, but she had enough sense at the moment to know it would be better to be semi-presentable when she went to confront him about it.

_And maybe ask him for help?_

She turned around and headed back to her room, her shower shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. Her room's door was thrown wide open, saving Emma the hassle of digging through her caddy for her key. Ruby had apparently just arrived back from class. She still wore her stiletto boots and leather jacket, but she was sprawled on her bed with her nose to her phone.

 _Normal. Everything is normal._ "How'd your presentation go?" she casually asked, putting her shower things in their home and shutting the door.

Preceded by a dramatic sigh, Ruby launched into a tale about her communications professor, who was either out to get her or out to get in her pants. It always seemed to be one or the other and oftentimes ended up being both. Ruby was just one of those girls: she was gorgeous, with flowing dark hair and legs that lasted miles, a laugh that enchanted listeners and sexual prowess to rival all others. She wasn't raised by "perfect parents" and didn't get to "skate her way through life," points she brought up during every real argument they'd ever had. But they somehow managed to even each other out.

At first, they hadn't really gotten along, merely greeting each other in the mornings before one left for class and bidding each other a friendly goodnight when they shut the lights off at night. They were cordial, and Emma was thankful enough for that.

Offhandedly, Emma heard a lull in her roommate's story and glanced over to see what the hold-up was (the sooner she finished her story, the sooner Emma could leave and deal with her… problem). Ruby was steadying herself, taking deep, calming breaths and not looking at anything but her phone. She choked out the name 'Peter,' which made Emma nod her head in comprehension as Ruby continued her tale.

The night after the homecoming football game transformed their relationship into what they shared today. Ruby had barged in at ten of three in the morning, drunk, out of breath, and crying. She was fumbling around the room, obviously searching for something. She'd stumbled over to Emma's nightstand, grabbed Emma's phone, and went into the hallway to call someone. She returned a few minutes later, still crying and a little less out of breath.

Unable to sleep with the decibel of noise, Emma had gotten up to chastise her roommate. In the end, she had ended up comforting her until the sun's rays crested over the horizon. Apparently (and to this day, Emma was still a little bit hazy about the events of that night), Ruby had been walking back from a frat party with her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Peter, when they'd been attacked. He had yelled for her to drop her purse and run. So, she did. Just as she was turning the corner, she heard a gunshot.

Then another.

Ruby kept running, afraid that her attackers would follow. The call she'd made on Emma's phone was to the police, seeing as her phone was in the purse she'd dropped. The next morning, the police knocked on their door and Ruby just knew. She'd answered the door, running mascara and all, to give her statement and to hear what she simply knew had happened. And when that was done, Emma had offered to leave her for some reflection time, but Ruby had begged her to stay.

"Please, Emma," she had beseeched quietly, tired tears racing down her cheeks. "Please, I can't be alone. I know you probably won't like me after this, but something like this…something this hard, I can't go through it alone. It'll be so much harder if…"

Emma recollected hurrying to sit next to her roommate and wrapping her arm over her shoulder. "I'll be here as long as you need me, Ruby," she had soothed her. The brunette leaned her head on Emma's shoulder and began to sob softly. Rubbing her arm, Emma had said, "Don't worry, you're not alone. I'm here. You aren't alone."

_I'm here. You aren't alone._

_There will always be time for you, lass._

Seeing her roommate as someone other than the drunken partygirl had really brought them together. Emma slowly opened up to her to the point where she considered them (a) even in amount of blackmail and sensitive information known and (b) best friends.

Watching her roommate go through such a tragedy had Emma thanking her stars every day that, regardless of Ruby's teasing, she lived such a blissful life: her parents loved each other and her, she'd been well-educated, with a roof over her head and food in her stomach.

She sighed internally. Her luck had to run out at some point.

Emma's head was in an entirely different place at the moment, but all her roommate's daily stories followed the same pattern, so she 'mhmm'-ed and nodded her head in all the right places. She rifled through her drawers to find something to wear for her mission at hand.

_Are you really worried about your clothes right now? Really, is that what you're going with?_

_Shut up._

"Why are you in such a hurry?"

Ruby's question brought her back to reality. "Hmm?" was her benign reply. She grabbed the first somewhat matching clothes she could find and slammed the drawers shut with her toweled hip. Her roommate, sometime during her narrative, had shifted so she sat the edge of the mattress. Concern weighed heavily on her features and her phone, her lifeline, lay haphazardly thrown across the bed.

"I just need to," Emma started, clasping her bra on over her towel. She didn't really want to get into this now. Sure, she was a very talented secret keeper, but she had such a good relationship with Ruby that, sometimes, things just kind of slipped out without her permission. Especially when she was stressed.

Like now.

"…talk to someone."

"Ooohh," Ruby crooned, the worry disappearing from her face as she felt around the sheets for her phone. "Who?"

"Doesn't really matter," she muttered, pulling her underwear on beneath her towel. She dropped the towel and went about pulling on the leggings she unburied from her drawers.

"Oh, come on Emma!" Ruby pleaded. "You tell me everything!"

"I tell you what you need to know," Emma said through the fabric of her dress. When her head popped out the top, she added with a pointed finger, "and right now, you don't need to know."

"Fine," Ruby conceded grumpily. She typed something into her phone and Emma thought the conversation over. She gathered her keys and stood barefoot on the threshold of their room when Ruby added, "But, we're still going to watch practice after dinner."

Great, she thought, craning her neck to the ceiling and closing her eyes. _Of course._ In light of recent developments, she'd forgotten it was Tuesday and, as per every Tuesday since they became friends, Ruby insisted Emma accompany her in her weekly ritual of watching the boxers' fights and practices. _Just icing on the cake of a perfect day._

She sighed heavily. "I'm not feeling up to it today, Ruby."

"Nope," Ruby said matter-of-factly. "Not a valid answer. You're coming." Emma turned around and gave her roommate a pained look. Ruby relented and set her phone down. "You promised. Besides," a predatory smile spread across her face, "I heard through the grapevine that Victor and Hook were today's soup du jour."

Emma groaned and softly hit her head against the door frame. _Of course he's the main attraction, today of all days._

"Practice starts at 7, and I want to grab something to eat beforehand," Ruby declared, settling against her pillows and, once again, focusing on her phone screen. "Now, go have your talk."

Grumbling some sarcastic gratitude, Emma crossed into the empty hallway and finally made her way down to Killian's room.


	4. Chapter 4

"Did you call them yet, Swan?" was Killian's greeting when he opened the door to his room. He let it swing and ricochet off the wall while he sauntered away. Emma placed her hand on the rebounding wood so it wouldn't hit her in the face.

"Excuse me?" she asked, entering slowly and observing her surroundings. For a college athlete's room, it was relatively neat. The furniture was arranged differently than in her room: one of the beds was bunked, standing on stilts over the head of the other bed. The desks were pressed up against opposing walls in order to make room for the shabby couch between them. There were two or three mounds of dirty laundry about the room, shoes and notebooks littered the floor, and posters or photographs covered every inch of the ugly concrete walls.

For a college dormitory, it was surprisingly homey.

"Your parents," he clarified, climbing the ladder to sit on what she assumed was his bed. "Did you call your parents?"

Emma hesitated before stepping further into the room and shaking her head. "No, my roommate was there."

"And you don't want her to know yet?" he assumed.

"No. I mean," she corrected herself, "yes, I don't want her to know. Yet."

Killian hummed in understanding, then looked at her standing awkwardly just inside his room. He crawled to the edge of his bed so he could stick his head toward her. "I know this is a lot to take in, lass, but I'm not a monster." When he registered the confusion on her face, he conspiratorially stage-whispered, "You can take a seat wherever you can find one."

As he went back to whatever was on his laptop, Emma silently nodded and wandered over to the couch. She sat down between a pair of boxing gloves and a pile of textbooks. Noting the titles, Emma deduced that either Killian or his roommate was some sort of environmental science major.

"What did you call me?" she asked out of the blue.

Killian looked to her. His eyebrow arched up, and Emma felt hers furrow. It was startling, the contrast between his barely-different expressions. If someone were to walk past him on the street, they'd stop and stare at just how handsome was. Slide up his brow and necks would crack and break to gape after him. He was dashing and devilish and completely catching her off guard.

And distracting her from the confusing nudge poking at her brain.

"I didn't call you anything," he responded. "I graciously informed you that you were free to sit where you wished."

Emma shook her head. "No, no, not just now. When I walked in. What did you call me?"

He laughed, a hearty sound that chased away the subtle coolness that had been seeping into her bones since she slipped into the dank bathroom. "Swan," he managed to answer. "I called you Swan."

"And why exactly did you call me that?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he admitted, "I'm not quite sure. It just kind of rolled off my tongue." He met her gaze again. _He's got gorgeous blue eyes_ , she thought to herself. "Would you mind if I called you that?"

Taken aback by his question, she shook her head. Her singular nickname, the uber original 'Em,' was sort of bestowed on her at birth. She'd never gotten to choose what she'd be called. Never got the chance to reinvent herself when she entered high school or university life as a freshman.

But this guy, whom she'd know for all of an hour, had gone and done it for her. It wasn't like she had a problem with the nickname. She liked it, in fact. She was honestly just curious as to why, of all the words in the English language, he'd chosen Swan. He had a point: it did sound better than Em or her surname Nolan. And, if anything else, at least it had a charming image connected to it.

"Not at all," she said quickly, realizing that he was still waiting for an answer.

"Good," was his reply. "I like swans. They're kind of overrated, but for such beautiful and exotic creatures, they don't get nearly as much publicity as ducks or geese."

Ignoring the indirect compliments hidden beneath his explanation, Emma motioned to the textbooks at her side and speculated. "So is it safe to assume these books are yours?"

Killian chuckled. "Those are actually my roommate Robby's. He's got a kink for the woods. Wants to 'save the rainforest' or whatever. Hardly shuts up about it." He hung his neck over the brink of his bed again to enrich his point. "If you're out in the forest one weekend and you hear moaning, it's probably him and his girlfriend doing it in a tent."

That made Emma crack up for some reason. Both his brows raised at the sound of her tinkling giggle. "You laugh, but it happens more often than you'd think," he explained.

"What, the interruptions or the actual act?"

"Both."

Laughter washed over her anew. It wasn't that funny, she was completely aware of that. But she was a kid, she reasoned with herself. This is what she should be doing all the time, not wallowing in uncertainty. Too much had been going on in the past couple hours and she curled up on herself, stretching her abdominal muscles in an unusual fashion. It felt good. It felt _right_.

 _They'll be stretching in a much different way in due time,_ that nagging voice reminded her.

That sobered her up quite quickly and reminded her of the reason she was there. Emma cleared her throat and sniffed. "That's a tad unnerving."

"Not so much, lass, as the current predicament you find yourself in." Sensing the change in energy in the room, Killian crawled to the foot of this bed and shimmied down the ladder. She couldn't help watching his arm muscles move underneath his skin as he climbed.

_No, you are not checking out his fabulous boxing body. He's got practice tonight. You're merely spotting him and making sure he doesn't fall._

_From your seat on the couch halfway across the room?_

He strolled over to the couch and, brushing the gloves from their perch, plopped down next to her. His arm easily slid over the back of the couch, his fingers mere inches from her shoulder, as his right ankle came to rest upon his left knee casually. "What brings you down to my end of the hallway?"

A little surprised by his presence, ( _it's his room, remember?_ ) it took Emma a moment to comprehend his question. And, after the neurons had fired, it took her yet another moment still to ponder why she actually _was_ here in his room.

"I'm not quite sure," she confessed quietly. She looked down at her clasped fingers shamefully.

The fabric of the couch, whatever it was, made a soft sound when he scooted closer to her, a shuffling not unlike the sheets of her bed at home made whenever someone moved on them. She hazarded a look at Killian mid-movement and was surprised by the caution with which he approached her.

"Do you mind?" he asked calmly. She shook her head solemnly. It's not like this could turn into any sort of shenanigans that could end poorly. She was already pregnant and he was the only other one who knew. Frankly, Emma could have used the small amount of compassion he was offering. Or even the restraint he was exhibiting, although it was a little late for that.

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, Killian whispered, "I think you're here because you're scared." Emma opened her mouth to protest, but he squeezed her body into his. "Ah ah, you've already said so, don't try and deny it." After gradually closing her mouth, he smirked. "You're scared and you know instinctively know I was telling the truth when I said I would help you. And right now you need someone to help you through phoning your parents, something that I am more than willing to accomplish."

"Actually," Emma corrected him, remembering her original intent in visiting him, "I came down here to punch you for looking at the test before me." He chuckled and let his grip go. She sighed and reluctantly said, "But, you aren't necessarily _wrong_ about the other things either."

He smiled and tapped the tip of her nose. "You're an open book, my lovely Swan, and I am quite the reader."

Ignoring the warmth that spread through her at her new nickname and the fact that he just booped her nose, Emma focused on her growing nerves. "Are you sure I should call them now?" Killian nodded sagely. "But what if it was a false positive?" she suggested. "That happens, right?"

"Regardless, you'll feel more relieved if you inform them sooner."

She groaned. "Why am I listening to you?" she asked aloud, more for herself than anyone else. Her head fell into her open palms and she rubbed them up and down her face in a feeble attempt to combat the headache she felt slowly building behind her forehead.

"Because you know I'm right."

"Yes, that may be true," Emma said hesitantly, searching for any sort of excuse to further procrastinate telling her parents of her indiscretions. She found one and, while it was rather weak, it would suffice for now. Raising her head, she said, "But we just met, like, an hour, maybe two, ago. Remember? You barged into the girls' bathroom and made some snide remark about saving the planet and turning off the water?" When Killian didn't say anything, she exasperatedly added, "Ringing any bells here?"

"Plenty," he replied in earnest. He leaned closer, his nose centimeters from touching hers. Emma felt heat scattered across her cheeks, reddening them to an embarrassing shade of pink. "You're listening to me, not only because of my suave charm, but because you inherently trust me. You know that I'm here to help, not to hurt-"

"Yeah, sure," Emma scoffed in interruption. _Too similar, too similar, don't fall for it_. "Bet that's what you say to all your conquests."

"No," Killian said, looking what she couldn't have described as anything other than hurt. "I save it for the special ones…" And then, as almost an afterthought, he mumbled bashfully, "Like you."

Before she could even begin to process what that meant falling from _his_ lips, her phone chimed. She dug it out of dress pocket ( _IT HAD POCKETS_ ) to see what the commotion was. It was a text from Ruby, asking her where she was and if her 'talk' (the quotes were actually included in the message) was done yet.

 _Why does she always assume I'm having sex with some mysterious stranger?_ she asked herself.

Just as she pressed on the lock button, she caught a glance at the time. "Shit, it's six."

"So?"

"So, I've got to go eat with my roommate before she drags me to…" Nope. No, she was not telling him that she and her roommate regularly watched him in his area of expertise. They were not on that level. Granted, it was kind of a moot point now, but she still had some dignity. "Don't you have practice?" she asked in hopes of distracting him.

"Yeah, so?"

"So? What do you mean, 'So'?"

"I told you," he said. "I put the important people in my life first." Killian faltered for a moment, contemplating something. Emma saw the resolve flood his eyes mere seconds before he grabbed her hands, cradling them in his one. "Everything else can wait."

Drawing her hands back, Emma acted appreciative. "Look, this really isn't any of your busin-"

"Emma," he impressed upon her as he stood from the couch. "I made this my business when I set foot in the girls' bathroom. Now, I'm going to go tell your roommate you'll be with her momentarily while you call your parents."

"But," she started, watching him collect his practice bag and snatch up his gloves from the floor. "What do I say?"

"Tell them the truth, love," he told her. He back up toward his cracked door, never breaking eye contact with her. "Say you took a test, but you're going to the infirmary within the week for confirmation. They obviously love you enormously if you're so concerned about telling them. And if they talk too long, tell them you've got school stuff to do and you'll call them back after you see the physician."

"Okay," Emma breathed. "Okay, I think I can do that."

"You can," he assured her. With a wink, he turned to the hallway and waved over his shoulder. "I'll see you in the stands, Swan."

"Yeah," she nodded absentmindedly. And then his goodbye fully registered with her. "Wait!" she exclaimed. He stopped on the threshold and tilted his head to face her. "How did…" she trailed off.

Gloves in hand and pack over his shoulder, Killian hung on the door frame wearing a smirk that floored her.

"It's Tuesday."

_That bastard._


	5. Chapter 5

Pacing was a nervous habit of hers, something she'd inherited from her slightly fretful mother, brought on by only the most nerve-wracking of situations. When Killian left her alone in his room with her thoughts and a mission, the first thing Emma did was stand up.

The second thing she did was wear a preliminary path between the closets and the foot of Robby's bed.

The third thing she did was punch in her home phone number before she could think twice, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Yet another tic she'd inherited from her mother.

"Please don't pick up, please don't pick up," she quietly chanted, trying to calm her heartbeat with the steady repetition, the monotone rings, and her shaky steps. It was Tuesday, and her mother was almost definitely home from the school she taught at. Her father was probably still at the station, trying to persuade his deputies that they didn't need to be in after five unless there was an emergency.

But there was the off chance that they decided to go out for dinner, or that they'd be out visiting friends, playing Bridge or whatever. Maybe they were having date night at the movies. Her father had mentioned something about trying to have weekly date nights when she was home last. Maybe they'd be doing something, _anything_ , to keep them from answering her call.

She'd probably get the answering machine. Hopefully.

It's not that she didn't love her parents. Quite the opposite, in fact: as the only child of Mary Margaret and David Nolan, Emma had been nothing but loved and cherished for her entire life. Sure, they'd been a bit overprotective, but that was only natural. And they had only allowed her to attend this university, the furthest and most expensive one Emma had applied to, with the promise of good grades and an 'all-American college experience.' She just didn't want to disappoint them with life-altering news like this.

_Little bit too much of that 'college experience.'_

The phone rung for the fourth time. _One more time_ , she thought. _One more ring and the machine picks up automatically. One more ring and I'm okay for now._

But, of course, fate didn't really wait for 'one more' of anything.

"Hello, Nolan residence, Mary Margaret speaking." Her mother's voice was its usual cheerful tone, and despite the slight sweat and rapidly beating heart Emma was nursing, she couldn't help but calm a bit at the sound of her mother's voice. It had comforted and cared for her throughout her life, making her laugh and consoling her tears. Her mother's voice provided Emma with a sense of home she could never attain anywhere else.

That feeling washed over her now, causing her to take a deep breath and respond before the woman on the other end mistook this for a prank call.

"Hi Mom," she greeted her with a gravelly voice. Emma cleared her throat and continued with "How's it going?"

"Oh Emma baby," Mary Margaret squealed. Emma silently winced at the endearment. It's not like her mom knew her current condition. "How are you, sweetie? Is everything okay? Hold on a second…"

Emma heard some racket on the other end of the line and faintly heard her mother yell through the apartment for her father, and even more faintly his response.

"Your father's busy moving the laundry around, but he says hello," her mother told her. "I'm just making some dinner. I was thinking tacos, but I don't think I have enough tomatoes…"

"Mom," Emma interrupted her. Mary Margaret made a sort of humming noise on the other end. "Mom, I know when I usually call, it's just to chat, and I would love to hear tonight's menu, but I've got to meet up with Ruby soon and I just need to tell you and Dad something."

"Oh," Mary Margaret said, disappointment clear in her tone. "Okay. Let me just get your father and I'll put you on speaker." Emma heard the clack of the receiver to the kitchen counter. _Just tell them. Get it over with. Like a Band-Aid. Then you can forget about it for a couple hours, be a normal college girl._

She took her bottom lip in between her fingers and began rolling it between them. Her legs were beginning to ache from pacing so fervently. She took the short pause to stop her tracks, pulling one knee up to her chest, then the other, trying to get the blood moving a little more.

Another noise on the line started her pacing again, a little less agitatedly now.

"Hey, princess," her father's strong voice said. A weight she didn't know she was carrying lifted from her shoulders. _They love you. It'll all be okay._ "Your mother said you wanted to tell us something."

 _Like a Band-Aid_. "Yeah, put me on speaker phone."

Some more rattling ensued before her father asked, "…What's this about, Emma?"

 _Like a Band-Aid_. "I think I'm pregnant."

Pure silence.

 _Get it out, get it out, like a Band-Aid, like a Band-Aid._ "I know you're really disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in myself. My period was late and I took one of those pee-stick tests you get at the drugstore today and it came out positive, but they almost always give off false positive results, so I'm going down to the health center sometime this week to get a definitive answer."

Still nothing. Her parents had never been this quiet, not even while they slept. She could practically hear the sizzling of something on the stove, taco meat forgotten in the wake of the news. Emma pulled her phone away from her ear, checking to see if the call had been lost or her parents had hung up.

She also caught a glimpse at the time. "Look, I've got to go. I just thought you should know." She gulped. "I wanted you to know. I wish I could talk longer, but Ruby's waiting for me. I'll call you when I know for sure," she hurriedly finished. "I love you both so much, and I'm so sorry…Bye."

As she hung up, Emma let out a breath of relief. She collapsed to the floor of Killian's room and just laid there for a second, gathering her wits.

_That phone call could've gone a lot worse._

_Sure._

It'd been close to three hours and she still hadn't really recovered. She had managed to drag herself off the carpeted dorm floor and find Ruby. Her roommate had demanded over a disgusting cantine dinner to know every minute detail about Emma's 'talk,' especially after the infamous Hook had come to tell her that "Miss Nolan needs to phone her parents, but will grace you with her presence shortly," as if he wasn't pretentious and alluring enough.

Now, she sat next to the brunette in the higher parts of the gymnasium bleachers, watching Killian and Victor Whale, Ruby's current pursuit, fight it out in the ring. It was their final bout of five, and every once in a while the coach would stop them mid-attack to correct one's stance or point out some detail neither of the girls could see to the remainder of the team ( _Was a group of boxers referred to as a team? Or something else, like a parliament of owls or a murder of crows?)_

"I hope they're almost finished," Ruby wished, picking at her nails while the coach took his time helping Victor commit a certain hit to muscle memory. Emma couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. Yes, this was their weekly ritual, but after the novelty of seeing both guys shirtless and glistening with sweat so their muscles were displayed in _just_ the right way wore off, it wasn't that interesting.

Moreover, she had other, more important things she could be doing besides sitting here in the nosebleeds. She had papers to write, exercises to complete, exams to study for. Life was moving on and up until the moment some sort of professional told her to stop, Emma was going to keep putting on the charade of an average second-semester college student.

Which, she leveled with herself, did include procrastinating all aforementioned responsibilities.

"They should be," Emma informed Ruby. She heard the loud clap the coach routinely gave to signal the end of practice and glanced down at the ring. "See, look," she pointed, her finger following the helmeted figures from the ring, through the ropes, and to the bags settled on the chairs nearby.

"Finally," Ruby exhaled, standing and grabbing her coat and bag from the empty space next to her. Emma followed suit, hitching her bag over her shoulder and threading her jacket through the strap. She began the tedious hike up the benches to leave the gym, but Ruby grabbed her roommate's hand and tugged her to the end of the row and down the stairs.

"Let's meet Victor."

_Not today._

Internally groaning, Emma whined, "Do we have to?"

Ruby threw her a stern gaze over her shoulder. "You need to be my wingwoman. I've been fantasizing about this guy for the past month and a half. And you, of all people, are going to be there when I meet him so you can reminisce about it during your maid of honor speech at our wedding."

"Maids of honor make speeches?"

"Really, Em." Ruby stopped on the last step and faced her roommate fully, irritation evident in her eyes. "Out of all the things I just said, you have a problem with the speech?"

Emma nervously giggled and shrugged. Ruby rolled her eyes and pulled both of them onto the squeaky gym floor. While Ruby took off toward Victor, Emma hung back and shuffled toward them sluggishly, hoping to avoid the awkward third-wheel situation ahead of her by giving them space.

She vaguely heard the pair introduce themselves and heard some utterance from Ruby's mouth about Victor's guns before a low "Swan" made her jump.

"Jesus," she yelped, turning around. Killian's face was alight with mirth, that stupid smirk on his face. Emma slapped him on his bare shoulder before securing her swinging bag from falling off her shoulder. "Don't do that to me."

"Do what?" he asked innocently. "Say hello to my girl after a grueling practice she so kindly sat through?"

 _How bold_. She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "First off, I'm not your girl. We met this afternoon, which you seem to have trouble remembering. Second off, I didn't sit through all this for you." She turned around and gestured to her friend, who seemed to have succeeded in her introduction and was now exchanging numbers with Victor. "I'm here for Ruby."

"Ahh, yes, Miss Lucas," Killian nodded, looking over as his teammate dug his phone from his bag to receive her number. "They'll be good for each other. Strong-minded and a tad too lothario for everyone else."

Emma whirled around and slapped him on the shoulder again. "I resent that," she hissed, eyes flashing to the girl in question. Fire sparked in her irises as she pointed her finger at him in scolding. "You have no clue who Ruby is and what she's been through. Any guy who catches her fancy is the luckiest fucking person alive."

Killian's brows rose in surprise at her outburst. His hands came up in surrender, knowing he'd judged the brunette far more than he should have. "My apologies, dear Swan. I overstepped a line."

"Damn straight," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and watching Ruby and Victor talk. Who was this guy, thinking he could assume who a person was based off one interaction? Did his parents ever teach not to judge a book by its cover?

Warmth hit the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She stiffened her muscles and shielded herself for an attack.

_Too close, not again, not again._

"Did you tell her?" Killian whispered in her ear.

The fight left her body as quick as it came. "No," she uttered.

"Probably for the best," he admitted. One of his hands came up to brush back a couple of blonde tresses from her shoulder. Emma rolled her eyes, knowing very well he couldn't see her reaction. "How'd the conversation with your parents go?"

"Well," she hesitated. She granted Ruby and Victor one last glance before slowly spinning around to face Killian. "I kinda dropped the bomb on them and then they didn't say anything. But my mom sent me this." She rifled through her bag and fished out her phone. After she typed in her password, she turned the screen around, allowing him time to just barely read the most recent text from her mother: 'We love you. Call us later.' Dropping her phone in her pocket, Emma finished, "While I was sitting up there."

"And you told them you'd discuss once you knew for sure?"

Before Emma could answer, Ruby skipped up to them. "Discuss what with who?" she asked, her sense of propriety and privacy nonexistent when it came to her best friend's business. It was further evidenced when Ruby threaded her arm through Emma's and leaned her head on her roommate's shoulder.

Emma watched him undergo his transformation at the other woman's appearance with awe. The lightness in his eyes darkened, cerulean seas seeped to dark navy depths. He drew himself up to his full height, towering over her and rivaling Ruby's heeled height. Almost unconsciously, he swiped his thumb across his jaw before resting his hands on his hips. This wasn't Killian Jones: this was the 'Hook' everyone was familiar with, the school's prodigal boxer, the devilishly handsome bachelor. This was the type of guy her parents warned her not to get involved with.

And yet, he was the one privy to her deepest secret. The _only_ one, outside of her parents.

"With whom, love," he corrected her, slyly grinning.

"Fine," Ruby sassily conceded. "With _whom_ , Mr. Fancypants?"

Killian chuckled. "We weren't properly introduced earlier. The name's Killian Jones, but most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker-"

"Hook," Ruby ended his thought. "Yeah, I know." She lifted her head off Emma's shoulder and held out her manicured hand, a seductive smile slipping onto her face. "Ruby Lucas."

 _Excuse you_ , Emma thought. She threw her friend a sideways glance. She knew that smile, seen it at every party they'd ever been to together. Despite having just received the number of the guy she'd been pining over for the past weeks, she still had the audacity to flirt with Killian.

Maybe it was just in her nature. Maybe he was right about that.

"Emma here is going to have to discuss with her past educators about her language," Killian explained. Then, directing his next words to her, "You must direct me toward those who taught you, love, if you desire to go on using phrases like 'catching her fancy.' I've never heard an American utter such a delightfully European thing."

She rolled her eyes, not caring that he saw this time. "Yeah, well," Emma started hastily. She backed off for a moment to think of a proper insult, but all she could come up with was "Shut up, you wanker."

Again, his eyebrows rose, accompanied by the corners of his lips. "My, Swan," he said in fake aspersion. "You have such a way with words."

"Oh please," she quipped. "I'm not even at the top of my game right now. You couldn't handle me on a good day."

"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it," he evenly proposed, adding a suggestive wink to the end.

Her eyes narrowed. A brief stare-down ensued, her jade eyes locked on his blues one. Even with close to six inches in height separating them and even less dividing their bodies, Emma held her own, not daring to back down or give into his so-called charm. It was an oddly intimate moment, being in such a public space but only focusing on the way the blue in his eyes actually was a gradient, close to baby blue around the edges and growing darker closer to his pupil. Or how his hair almost sort of fell in his eyes. Or the manner in which his entire persona somehow changed when he spoke to her, growing softer.

The moment broke when Ruby coughed. "Do you guys want me to leave, or should I find a comfy seat and rustle up some popcorn?"

Emma reluctantly looked away first. "What?"

"Are you kidding me?" she asked skeptically. Her finger flicked between the two of them, barely enough room for a picture frame to fit between them. "I could cut this sexual tension in the air with a butter knife."

"Would you like to join, love?" Killian asked without faltering. "I'm all for sharing."

Ruby scoffed him off. "No thanks, Romeo. Your friend over there already wore me out. Maybe another time." Addressing her roommate, she rested her hand on her shoulder. "Ready to head back?"

"Would you lovely ladies care for an escort?"

Giving him a sarcastic glare, Emma denied him. "Don't you have to shower or something? You're kind of gross and sweaty and that can't be comfortable."

"Oh Emma, you'd be surprised how comfortable I am when I'm sweaty."

Disgust rose up on her face. "Killian," she complained. She pushed his chest, momentarily getting her fingers tangled in the hair there, and grabbed Ruby's hand. "You're a pig. Go shower."

He mockingly bowed to her. "As you wish, my lady."

The last thing Emma saw of him before she pulled Ruby to the exit was the genuine smirk. The one that comforted her in the bathroom and soothed her on his couch, not the weirdly sexy and intimidating one Ruby'd seen.

Her roommate was saying something quietly next to her, but Emma didn't hear a word. She was a bit hung up on the stare-down that had happened and what exactly was going on. She couldn't say anything for sure, but it was…different.

Just as Ruby was shoving the gym door open, Emma heard him yell across the cavernous room "I'll be seeing you, Swan."

Emma felt a secretive smile float across her lips and ducked her head to hide it from Ruby's nosy inquiries. For the first time that day, she was actually looking forward to the future, even if it was only tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to express any questions, comments, or concerns. Have a lovely day!


	6. Chapter 6

The only time Emma could seem to arrange an appointment at the health center was Friday after her classes.

Which meant she had three days, give or take, to fluctuate in between the states of denial and panic.

She'd have to apologize to Ruby later when she told her everything. Because for those three days, give or take, Emma was the hottest of messes.

Getting up in the morning, she would be completely and blissfully unaware of her situation. It was any other Wednesday, Thursday, Friday morning, and she had classes to attend and papers to write and people to speak with.

Get dress, freshen up, bid farewell to Ruby. Grab a banana from the cantine if she thought her stomach could handle it (or if anything, she could eat when she thought she could handle it. She couldn't really tell if it was some sort of mild morning sickness or just too many nerves), check her mail, gain an education.

But as the day's plans lost her interest, she got lost in her own mind. Friday especially, as she began dozing off in history, her pencil's eraser drumming against her notebook, the sinking cold feeling returned and moved about her bloodstream. She could push it away temporarily, let it flow into some unnecessary or unimportant part of her, but it came back stronger every couple of minutes.

 _Thirty-five more minutes in this class_ , she thought, her heartbeat timing with her pencil pounding. _Then fifty minutes of biology. I can do this._

By the time she reached her biology lecture, where her professor was ironically teaching them about meiosis and mitosis, all she could think about was the possibility of those exact processes occurring inside her right at that moment. Her hands shook as she attempted to take notes, and her head soon followed. _I can't take it_ , she deemed as she hastily shoved her belongings into her bag _._ She ended up leaving the lecture fifteen minutes early and headed straight to the health center.

For what it was worth, she didn't feel any better there.

After checking in at the reception desk with some elderly woman wearing a kind smile, Emma sat on a cold plastic chair that creaked when she leaned too far to one side. She fiddled with the strap of her bag, twirling and untwirling it around her fingers. When that bored her, she got out her phone, more out of habit than anything else, and just sort of stared at it.

In the past when she was this nervous, she would text someone, share her troubles. Back in high school, it'd been her 'big brother' Graham. But they hadn't really talked since he'd started his adventure around the globe in September. She'd received a postcard not too long ago from the Black Forest in Germany with a few words from him, but otherwise nothing.

She could message Ruby, but then her roommate would ask to meet up and the entire secret would fall to shambles once Ruby questioned her presence at the health center. There was always her parents, but both of them were at work and Emma hadn't really spoken to them since she'd told them.

 _There's always Killian_ , a small, shy voice commented.

It made her chuckle quietly. The rate at which she was trusting this boy, let alone becoming fond of him, was stunning. She swiped open her phone and commenced her search for his number when it hit her: she didn't have it.

Mentally berating herself, she physically covered her face in frustration. _It would figure the only other person on campus who knows I'm here, I can't contact._

For once, though, it seemed luck was on her side. Despite her appointment time not being for another ten minutes, the receptionist called her up to the window.

"If you go down this hallway," she said in her shaky, grandmotherly voice, "you'll find a couple exam rooms. The doctor will see you in number six." Emma nodded her thanks and left the counter.

 _Okay, you can do this,_ she told herself as she turned the corner and began scanning the doors. _It's some complete stranger who's going to hardcore judge you. You can do this._

The third door on the left bore a nondescript red 6 just above eye level. Trying the handle, Emma found it unlocked and let herself in. It was like any other doctor's room she'd been in: a combination scale and stadiometer off to the side, next to two chairs similar to those in the waiting room. A counter with a couple of magazines for waiting patients hung from the wall next to the cornered examination table, complete with crinkly paper on top. There wasn't a window, or any sort of decorations on the white walls.

If she hadn't be feeling lonely before, she certainly did now.

After dropping her bag on one of the chairs, Emma hopped onto the table. Her legs didn't touch the ground, nor did she ever believe they would. That sensation, the one of your legs just hanging in midair, was one of the few that made her feel childish in all the good ways. Just like swinging on swing sets or making a mess with food did. It was soothing in the way only nostalgia could be.

She started kicking her legs, trying to rid herself of some of her anxious energy. One leg forward as the other's heel collided with the cabinets underneath, creating a satisfying 'thunk.' It made her titter awkwardly.

Her giddiness was short-lived, for another slam of her heel coincided with the creaking of door hinges. "Miss Nolan," the doctor droned. He had his white coat on, stethoscope around his neck, and glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, underneath which he was giving her a disappointing look.

"Emma," she said timidly. "Go ahead and call me Emma."

"Okay, Emma." He offered his hand, which she took and shook. Bringing his hand back to his person, he glanced down at her paperwork she submitted to the lady up front. "What can I do for you today?"

"Umm…" She nervously licked her bottom lip, unsure of how to broach the subject. He looked up at her from the rim of his glasses, the complementary grandfather to the receptionist grandmother. His scrutiny forced her to stare at her shoes, stilled now. "Do you guys do, like, blood tests here?" she asked.

The doctor furrowed his brows in confusion. Emma had forgotten what that expression looked like on other people. It was a lot less infuriating, a lot less charming, and a lot less Killian. _Huh_.

"Yes, but only if we have specific motives and there aren't any alternatives," he explained. "Blood sampling is quite an expensive endeavor, wouldn't you know?"

Emma tried her hardest to suppress rolling her eyes, but she wasn't quite sure she was successful. _Oh yeah, of course it is. I'm the one with a need in my vein and you can't afford a couple extra clean ones even though neither my parents nor I will be able to retire until we're a hundred because of my tuition debt._

Still looking at her feet, Emma quietly said, "I'd like to request a blood test."

He laughed at her, actually laughed at her, and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. "That's cute, sweetie, but like I said, you've got to meet certain requirements. Now, unless you've have an already diagnosed venereal disease or -"

"Look, doc," she stated frankly. She was more than done with this bullshit and it had barely even started. "My period's late, I had unprotected sex, and I took a home pregnancy test earlier this week that came out positive." She ignored his astonished look and continued after a deep breath. "I could honestly care less what your precious requirements are. Just shoot me up and tell me whether or not there's something growing inside me."

Obviously taken aback by her bluntness, he stared at her for a second before setting the papers on the end of the table. He muttered something while shaking his head and heading to the counter. Emma overheard the phrases "hormonal teenagers" and "in their pants" and "sixth one." She nearly lashed out at him again, _enough of this snark, I'll find another way_ , when she saw him grab a syringe, a tourniquet, and a vial.

_Yesss._

The doctor placed all his materials onto a small metal tray and snapped on some gloves. Emma unconsciously gulped, but held out her arm so he could tie off her upper arm with the tourniquet.

"This is going to sting," he warned her. When she felt him smear the cold antiseptic over her skinned vein, she closed her eyes. A slight pressure bit her arm and she winced.

It was over and done with before too long. Emma opened her eyes as the man stuck a bandage over the lightly bleeding spot. She watched him clean up silently, returning the tray beneath the table and labeling her blood sample.

As the man took off gloves, he said, "It can take up to 48 hours for the results to be processed, but it hasn't been that busy in the lab lately, so the possibility of someone calling you tonight is more likely." He shot the balled-up gloves into the trashcan, asking "Happy now?"

Emma uttered some incoherent words, all in a grateful tone. "Sorry," she added to the end, louder than her previous thoughts. The doctor met her gaze, unaware of her reason for apologizing. "You know, for kind of snapping at you. I'm sorry." The man gave her a pained smile and opened the door to usher her out. Emma whisked her stuff from the chair and headed to the exit. She waved goodbye to the receptionist, and walked briskly across campus back to her room. She had homework to do, after all.

_And by homework, I mean Google searches. Lots and lots of Google searches._

That's where Killian found her a couple hours later, wrapped up in a blanket on her bed, laptop touching her knees, when he knocked on her door.

She looked up at the sound, her glasses slightly magnifying her striking green eyes. "I thought you were in the ring again today," she greeted him.

"Nah, I managed to persuade Coach I wasn't feeling one-hundred percent following my skirmish with Victor yesterday," he answered her. Now that he had gotten her attention, he invited himself in, shucking his leather jacket and taking in his surroundings. He walked slowly, his eyes surveying every inch of the mostly-bare walls and the few knickknacks she had on her desk. Emma watched him do so, finding herself surprisingly embarrassed and restless to hear his opinion.

She didn't have much. There was a map of the country hanging on her side of the room, dotted with all the places she had visited or wanted to. Her desk held mostly school stuff, pencils and books, but a couple of pictures, some of her parents, one or two of her and friends, and one of a landscape she ripped from a magazine, added color. Everything on display had meaning to her, but to an outsider like Killian, it probably just looked like a feeble attempt at a life.

All her possessions paled in comparison to the vibrancy and assortment of Ruby's side of the room, decked out in various shades of red and too many posters of scantily clad men. Her closet and dresser spilled clothes and the pairs of shoes that covered her closet's floor outnumbered all the shoes Emma had ever owned.

When his inspection finished, he dropped his coat on her desk and flopped on her bed behind her computer, laying on his side to look at her. "This is not what I imagined your room looking like, Swan."

"You've already seen it," she reminded him. Then, pointing at his feet, "If you're going to invade my bed, those have to go."

A sly, seductive smile spread over his lips as he toed his shoes off. "If I were to invade your bed, love, it would only be to ravish you and silence your breathless begging. And yes, I have seen your living area, but it doesn't negate my opinion." He scooted up so his back leaned against the wall, grabbing one of her pillows from behind her as he moved. "It's much nicer with you it in, just as any room should be," he said, hugging the pillow closer to his chest. It almost made him look shy, nervous to be saying such a thing to a girl.

Her response was a sarcastic glare. He merely smiled. "By the way, I'm loving the spectacles, darling. They make you-"

He was interrupted by the shrill ringing of her phone. Emma fumbled around in her blanket looking for it, the music swelling and plummeting as she got closer and further from its hiding place.

She found it under her leg. "Shit," she muttered, recognizing the number flashing on her screen.

He jumped, his spine going ramrod straight. "Who is it?"

"It's the health center." Meeting his eyes, her worry shone through. _Gulp._ He gestured to the still-ringing machine and she quickly answered phone.

"Hello?...Yes, this is she..." She rolled her eyes. She'd never really understood why anybody asked that. _I gave them this number, who else would it be?_

Killian carefully watched her, playing with the edges of the pillowcase. When he figured out the conversation would be largely one-sided, he got bored and stole her laptop, relocating it to his lap. Shocked by screen, he gave her a quick eyebrow raise. Emma waved him off, giving him an annoyed look. He considered it and squinted at the tabs she had open. As the conversation went on, she saw the intrigue dawn on his face, tapping out something on the keyboard and thoroughly reading whatever was on the screen.

"Okay. Yes, I understand," she finally said. She hadn't really heard what the doctor had told her from the other end of the line, but had gotten the basic gist of it. "Yes, I'll give them a call in the morning. Thank you…You too. Goodbye."

She clicked her phone to end the call and dropped it in her lap. Her hands ran through her hair and came to rest on the back of her neck as she craned to see the ceiling. She exhaled loudly.

"So?" Killian gently inquired.

She sighed. "It's official. I'm pregnant."


	7. Chapter 7

"How far along did they say you were?"

"He wasn't quite sure, but he said somewhere around five or six weeks." She looks down at her stomach. "There's really something in there."

"Believe it or not, love," Killian said. He followed her gaze, coming to rest on her inconspicuous abdomen. They raised their heads in tandem, jade eyes finding azure counterparts for any kind of comfort they would give. "Should I congratulate you, or would you rather I abstain?"

"Abstaining is good," she sighed. Quite dramatically, Emma flopped backed on her other pillow. Her forearms covered her face, attempting to conceal her mix of emotions coursing through her right now. "I don't know what to do now."

"You should probably call your parents," he suggested. She shot him down with an enthusiastic shake of her head. Peeking from between her arms, she saw him simultaneously playing with his hands over her keyboard and forming an idea in his head. Hesitantly, he offered another plan: "Or tell the father?"

She groaned and submerged her sight in darkness again. "Can't I just sit here and pretend that this isn't happening? Read my Google searches and eat my banana?" At that thought, Emma eased herself back into a proper sitting position. She scanned the room. "Where is my banana?"

A confused crease appeared between his eyebrows. "Banana?"

"Yeah," she said a little frantically. She stood from her cozy cocoon and stumbled to her desk after tripping over the edge of the blanket. "I haven't been feeling well when I get up, so I've been getting a banana before class every morning just in case I'm hungry during the day. You know, the whole B.R.A.T. thing?" She spared him a glance in her search. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes narrowed, and the wrinkle in his forehead deepened in puzzlement. "Seriously? What did they teach you over there?"

"Not to be a little prat," he perplexedly stated. "Honestly, this education system is mystifying. Your curricula actually taught you to be like that? "

Emma snorted. "No, not a prat, although I understand why'd you think so." She twirled around, making little noises as she sought out her bag. "It's an acronym for the foods that are supposed to settle your stomach. Banana, rice, applesauce, toast. Aha!" she exclaimed as she unearthed her bag from the fallen blanket. "Not to mention that bananas are an excellent energy boost, which is really what I need, especially since I'm tired all the time, even though I get much more sleep than any other college student I've ever known. They're a great source of potassium and pretty much the best healthy snack out there. You can cover them in choc-"

"Swan," Killian melodically interrupted her. Unaware of her rambling, she gave a bashful smile at his raised brow and knowing smirk. "And how long have you been doing this little regiment?"

Confounded by his question, Emma stared off into space, contemplating her answer. "I don't know." She stood with her bag in hand, mouthing words for no one in particular and lifting a finger every so often. "A week or so? Maybe two?" she finally guessed. "I don't really remember when-"

Coming back to herself, she turned her attention to his face, noticing how his brow had somehow rose higher and his grin had spread wider. His hand splayed out into the air in front of him, offering the obvious answer on the platter of his palm. "Oh. Wow," she realized quietly. She stared at her bag. Then curling one of her fingers around some loose hair, she asked, "How didn't I connect those dots?"

"Search me." Killian shifted her laptop onto the bed and scooted to the side. He got up and walked over to her dresser, reaching for the precise yellow fruit on top. "I believe this is what you were looking for?" he mockingly queried. Emma's shoulders sagged as she let her bag drop to the floor. Reluctantly, she snatched the banana from his grasp, stuck her tongue out in retaliation, and returned to her place on the bed.

Killian stayed where he was for a moment. Cocking his head to the side, he scratched at a spot behind his ear. "Did you have dinner?" he asked.

She slowed her motion mid-peel to consider his question. "No," she answered, tearing off the top of her banana and voraciously shoving it in her mouth. "But I'm not really hungry and the cantine's too far."

He made his way over to her bed and delicately placed his body perpendicular to hers. The corner of his mouth tipped up when he said, "You'll have to pardon my skepticism, Swan, but I do believe you're lying."

A brief look at herself and the empty peel in her hand resulted in a flustered smile. "Shut up."

"I will once you answer my question." He patted her knee in a comforting gesture. "Now, what are you going to do?"

After a glance at his hand on her leg, Emma played with her trash, pondering her next move. "I'm going to stay here tonight," she told him. She raised her head to meet his gaze, her confidence growing with each vertebrae that straightened. "Yeah. Do a little research, savor my banana, maybe go to bed early."

He nodded. "Alright." With a firm final tap, he stood up and grabbed his jacket from the desk. He was already at the door before she could ask, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going back to my room to grab my phone and some money." Seeing the question pop into her head, he held up a hand, nonverbally telling her to save her breath. "Now that it's official, you have to start treating yourself better. You can't be like any other universitarian, forgetting meals and staying up till all hours." He donned his jacket and dug through his pockets until he found his keys with a triumphant "Ha!" Pointing at her, he said, "I'm going to order us some pizza, and then, if you don't mind, I'll join you for your night in."

Hesitant of his kindness, _although you have no real reason not to trust him_ , Emma agreed. "Sure. I mean, Ruby's out with Victor, so she'll be gone for," she pretended to calculate her roommate's sexual dexterity, "a while."

"Swan," he gasped with faked shock. "If you wanted to be alone with me, all you had to do was ask." Killian chuckled at the glare she gave him. "Besides, my virility won't be on proper display if I have to worry about squishing the little one." He ducked out of the door frame just in time to avoid the pillow she threw at him. She could hear his laughter echo all the way down the hall.

He kicked in the almost closed door a few minutes later and moseyed in wearing some sweatpants and a plain V-neck, laptop in hand and wallet between his teeth.

"What about your roommate?" she inquired as if the conversation had never been interrupted. While he was gone, she'd taken the time to change into some more comfortable attire. She'd just finished pulling on a sweatshirt over some gym shorts when he entered.

Following an ungraceful discarding of his wallet, he disbelievingly asked her, "Don't you remember?" She shook her head and, setting his laptop down on an empty space on her desk, he reminded, "Weekend, woods, horny college students?"

"Right." Sucking in a breath, she jokingly grimaced. "So close to an alliteration."

They shared a look, his displaying his apathy and hers trying to contain her unbridled joy at her observation.

While waiting for the pizza to be delivered, they made small talk, Emma asking about his day, Killian asking about the rest of hers. It was nice, just to talk to someone else, get to know them. After he'd jogged down to pay the pizza man and obtain the food, they scarfed down the entire pepperoni pie, she far outeating him, much to his delight. They settled on to her bed, shoulder to shoulder, leaning their backs against the wall, reading up on whatever articles and information they could get their hands on and sharing any interesting findings.

"This site here says you shouldn't publically share the news with outside parties until the end of your first trimester," Killian mentioned close to midnight. Fatigue was beginning to taunt him, Emma could tell, causing him to rub his eyes.

"Probably smart," she muttered. Her energy seemed endless. Like many times in the previous hours, she turned her screen toward him and pointed to a paragraph. "Have you seen these things about miscarrying?" Her eyes widened in a mix of awe and fear at the presented information as he skimmed it. "Maybe I should tell Ruby just in case something like this happens."

"Nothing's going to happen to you, Swan. And if it does, you have my number."

"Actually, I don't." From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn his head to look at her profile. Almost guiltily, she met his gaze. "I was going to text you while I was waiting at the health center today, but I couldn't."

His hand came to rest over his heart. "How completely dishonorable of me," he scandalously declared. "I offer my services to the most beautiful of ladies and give her no way to contact me." He wriggled his fingers, gesturing for her phone. "What were my parents thinking when they raised such an imbecile?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Yes," she lightheartedly sneered, mocking his accent with a butchered version of her own, "what _were_ they thinking?" She whacked the mattress around her and discovered her phone between her crossed legs. Unlocking her phone, she handed the object to him and watched him type his number in. Not a moment later, a 'ding!' rung from his cell next to him.

Picking up his phone, he slyly proposed, "Was this all just a ruse to get my number, Swan?"

She snorted. "Yeah," she replied sarcastically, "I plan on becoming a statistic all so I could get your number." She pushed her laptop away irately and threw her hands in the air in defeat. "You caught me."

A sad smile materialized on his face. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her body into his side. "You know you're more than that," he reassured her.

Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. She sniffed and wiped her eyes, hoping to keep the waterworks from flowing. _Where are these emotions coming from?_ "Right now, I'm not feeling like it."

"Emma," he whispered. A small thrill spiked her spine at her name, but it soon washed away, thanks to the incapacitating hopelessness drowning her. "You're the most important person in the entire solar system at this exact moment in time. You've got a child, albeit it unplanned, growing inside you right now. Your parents love you, you've got friends who'll look after you. You're headstrong and brave and so much more than a daft percentage point." He pulled her impossibly closer, forcing her head to fall onto his shoulder. "No one decides your fate but you," he stated, shaking her a bit to impress his point. "So, you can choose to continue wallowing in your despair, be a statistic. Or," he paused for dramatic effect. The silence stretched for so long that she raised her head to look at him. His eyes were waiting for her, bright with optimism that slowly spread to her. "You can rise to the occasion."

More quiet, save for the whirr of their laptop fans, filled the room. Two pairs of eyes maintained contact for an auspiciously long time, charging the room with apprehensive energy.

"You're surprisingly good at pep talks," she complimented him quietly. It came out a little breathless for her ears, but she chocked it up to Killian's arm around her.

Or her out-of-control emotions.

Or the complexity of her entire situation.

Whatever would be the most believable excuse when she reflected on this moment.

"How do you think I made this far?"

Her snicker broke the mounting tension. He smiled at the sound, and joined in. The tears meant for sadness fell from the corners of her eyes in delight. "Try something new. It's called trust." Retracting his arm, but not his gaze, he said, "Trust me, Swan. Trust yourself."

Emma nodded and stifled a yawn behind her hand. A glance at the number on her phone and the weight of her eyelids told her it was past her bedtime. "Thank you, Killian. For everything." She briefly surveyed the condition of her room, from the empty pizza box to the messy state of her bed. "But it's kind of late."

He nodded in understanding and started gathering his things. "Of course, of course. I'll leave you to get some beauty rest." Slipping and standing to the side of her bed, he patted his pockets and spun on the spot, checking to make sure he had all his belongings. She powered down her computer and set it on the floor, then slid under the covers, all while watching him.

Wagging a finger at her, he repeated his earlier self. "Talk to your parents in the morning. And remember to eat."

"Yes, Mom," she retorted, happy to see a sassy grin emerge from his lips.

He walked to her door and, when he stepped back to open it, turned to her and muttered, "Sweet dreams, Swan."

"Goodnight, Killian," she bid him. She saw his smile one last time before the wood obscured her vision and she heard the click of the lock, signaling his departure.

Burrowing deeper into the warmth left behind by their bodies, she couldn't seem to wipe the slight smile from her face.

She does have sweet dreams that night, of the pair of them, doing the most mundane things, of more nights like this one. Which, considering her dreamless history, is news enough for her.


	8. Chapter 8

The click of Ruby's heels woke her from her rather pleasant slumber that Saturday morning. She still wore her outfit from the previous night, meaning her date was clearly a success. In her hand, she held a white takeout box containing her breakfast, Emma assumed.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

"Hey. How was…" Her sentence was left hanging when Ruby opened the box. The smell of chocolate chip pancakes, Emma's favorite, wafted over to her bed.

And she couldn't stand it. It was absolutely revolting. _How could I ever eat that?_

She threw off her covers and bolted to the bathroom. In the same stall she'd passed the one test she didn't want to, Emma kneeled to the ground and began dry heaving over the toilet. Nothing was coming up, nothing was going to come up, but just the _smell_ was so off-putting that her stomach wouldn't stop pulsating, trying to force every remnant of the scent out of her system.

She stayed praying at the porcelain throne for a few more minutes before her stomach decided enough was enough. The last of silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away, slowly exiting the stall. Checking out the damage in one of the mirrors, she saw her puffy red eyes and the tracks her tears had made.

"If this is what I have to look forward to for the next couple months, I'm not a fan," she muttered to her reflection. She sniffed and headed back to her room.

Thankfully, Ruby had the sense to either eat her meal or throw it away before her return, and the window was open, allowing the stiff breeze to blow away the smell. She sat on her bed as Emma mumbled quiet gratitudes to her apprehensive roommate's stare.

"Sorry," she apologized in a gravelly voice. "It was…" How was she going to play this off? Taking a seat at the foot of her bed, she finished her thought with "…a rough night last night."

The concern vanished from her expression and that signature Ruby nosiness appeared in its stead. "Oohh, tell me more."

Emma hesitated. She didn't want to outright lie to her, but, like Killian had said last night, it wasn't really safe to tell anyone who didn't already know. _Knowing my luck, I'd tell her and miscarry the next morning._

_Why would you say something like that, you moron?! Karma's a bitch. You of all people should know that._

"Nothing really happened. Killian and I..." What was a safe answer? "hung out and…" She struggled for any sort of explanation. For someone who managed to keep her secrets in a small town like hers, she wasn't very good at lying.

Ruby's eyes widened and hit the bed in vexation. "And? Don't leave me hanging!"

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat and uttered, "Doesn't really matter." _That's right. Change the subject. Good technique._ "Tell me about your night with Victor."

"Well," she started, her bubbly glee overflowing. "First off, he's a stand-up guy, really. He's a biology major on the pre-med track…"

Her voice started fading away, her story getting lost in Emma's brainwaves. This often occurred when Ruby told her stories. It's not that she didn't try to listen; she really did. But they all sort of sounded the same after a while.

Besides, she had other, more pressing matters on her mind. Like whether she should tell her best friend that she was, let's face it, knocked up.

 _She's your best friend,_ one voice pleaded in one corner.

 _It's too soon,_ another reasoned. _You don't want to celebrate and have something go wrong. Keep her safe._

 _But what if something does go wrong?_ the other one asked. _Ruby would be the first one I'd want to support me._

 _You can't,_ the second firmly stated. _Less damage to control. That's it. You can survive with Mom and Dad and Killian._

 _Killian._ What had he said last night? _Try something new. It's called trust. Trust me. Trust yourself._ If her first instinct was not to tell Ruby, then she needed to trust herself.

"Aren't you hungry?" Ruby's voice cut through the muddle of her inner monologue. Emma shook any remaining thoughts from her head and blinked owlishly at her roommate. "You must be starved. I'll go back to the cantine with you."

"No, no, that's alright." She rose from her bed and went to her closet. A brief consideration of actually trying today resulted in her throwing on a pair of sweatpants and pulling her hair back hastily. _Nah._ Grabbing her phone from her desk, she informed Ruby, "I'm just gonna go outside and call my parents. Check in with them."

"Take you jacket, it's windy out today," she warned.

"Thanks!" And out the door she went.

The elevator ride was short enough and dull enough to be forgotten, as it usually was. The lobby of her building was vacant, and it was just before a reasonable hour for college students to stir on a Saturday morning. She could call her parents from the warmth and safety of the lobby, but the bench right outside, for some ungodly reason, seemed to be the best place for that conversation.

A couple friendly faces passed by: Belle, a girl from her hometown, and Archie, both who lived in her building. Gusts of wind whipped her hair in every direction, but only for brief moments, and once she sat on the bench, the cold metal swiftly soaked through the cotton of her pants. The imposing frigidity of winter sped her actions, if for no other reason to keep her warm, and she dialed her house number.

Her mother picked up on the second ring. "Hello, Nolan residence, Mary Margaret speaking."

"Hi Mom."

Relief and a touch of sadness colored her voice. "Hi honey. How're you doing?"

Letting out a big sigh, she said, "I've been better."

"I'm sure," she sympathized. A hush flooded the line for a minute before Mary Margaret hazarded a question. "Any news?"

"Yeah," Emma reluctantly answered.

"Is that a 'yeah' you have news or 'yeah' you're pregnant?"

"Both," she allowed. Shifting her position on the bench and the volume of her voice (she didn't want to alert the entire world about her condition), she continued, "I went to the health center yesterday and they called me last night. Said it's been about five or six weeks."

Her mother made some low sound of understanding. "You're going to need your first ultrasound soon."

"Yeah, that's what he said last night," she agreed. She pulled her arm deeper into her sleeve so it covered her cold fingers. "It's one of the reasons I wanted to call you."

"Do they not have any service at that kind there?"

"He said not really. Besides, he was kind of an asshole, so it'd probably be better if I came home and got one." Sheltering part of her face with her sleeved hand, she wavered for a second. Unbidden tears ( _they're from the cold and the wind, that's it_ ) welled from her eyes. In an even quieter and shakier voice, she said, "I kind of also don't want to be alone. I was hoping you'd come with me?"

"Of course, Emma," her mother soothed her hurriedly. "Don't ever think otherwise. I'll call someone up here and you can come home next weekend. We'll do it then."

Emma sniffed a bit and wiped away an errant tear, mumbling her thanks. After another moment of quiet, Mary Margaret uncertainly asked, "Have you told the father yet?"

"No," she said, just as uncertain. "I'm debating whether he should even know. We weren't really…" She searched for the right word. "Together."

"That's something every mother wants to be reassured of," her mother mumbled. "But you know who it is?"

"Yes, Mom. I'm not that much of a tramp."

"I never said you were," she defended herself. "I just wanted to make sure the OB/GYN was the only person I needed to call."

"Jeez, Mom," Emma griped. Frustrated, she scrubbed her hand across her forehead. "I know the rights to my own body. I wouldn't have let anybody near me with a seven foot stick if I thought they were going to rape me." She failed to mention to her mother that her future grandchild's father could legally drink while her daughter couldn't even vote. Nor did she reveal that he was, for all intents and purposes, in charge of her daughter's safety and wellbeing. _Minimize damage._

The other end of the phone broke out in her mother's guffaw. "That's my girl. Your father will be so proud of you."

Emma breathed a smile of relief. "Yeah." She thought about her mother breaking the news to her father, the concerned crease in his brow. Though she knew he would never lash out against his wife, Emma feared he would do something rather rash. She had inherited her 'punch first, ask questions later' attitude from him, after all.

_Maybe it'd be better if I told him myself._

Deciding that was the best course of action, Emma's next words were "Is he around? I kind of wanna tell him myself."

Mary Margaret's laughter died down. "Sorry, honey, he's down at the station. There's been a string of break-ins he's worrying about and the Frenchs' house caught fire earlier this week and, of course, we've been waiting to hear from you."

"That's fine. Tell him to call me back when he's got the time."

"Will do, sweetie." Emma could tell just by her mother's inflection that her father hadn't been all too present that week. She was worried about him, as any good wife should be for her husband.

But their relationship had always been more than that. They were partners more than anything else. Sure, her mother made the meals and her father was the predominant breadwinner, creating that perfect family Ruby always teased her for. And yet, her father did the laundry and her mother taught her how to hunt in the forests outside their town. They were anything but stereotypical.

She'd always assumed it stemmed from their origins: her father was a fresh-faced officer assigned to a routine breaking-and-entering case of which her mother was the primary suspect. After countless close calls, David had vowed to make her pay, vowed to find Mary Margaret, always and until the end of time. And he did, at the end of the aisle, blushing and waiting to say 'I do.'

Breaking her concentration, Mary Margaret inquired, "Have you got any fun plans for this weekend?"

"Well, I was going to join the stoners and smoke a joint before trolling the frat house parties with a handle in each hand," Emma jested, "but I guess I have to rethink that now."

"Har har," her mother sarcastically offered. "Don't joke about that. I went to college. I know what it's like."

"Fine. I'll change my plans." She took a moment to think about it. "Maybe I'll ask Ruby for a girls' night in." _Although I kind of did that last night._

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Mary Margaret articulated. "Or maybe go into the city and do some touristy things. Ask that RA of yours, what's his name? Nico?"

Emma felt her face pale and she gulped. "Neal."

"Yeah, that's it. Maybe he could suggest some things to do."

Quietly, she responded, "Yeah, maybe."

Her mother kept talking, suggesting fun things to do sober while Emma rolled her lower lip between her fingers. Leroy, a friend of hers, was strolling back to the front of the building. She waved and he acknowledged her with a return of the gesture, but soon started walking toward her. _I must really look a mess if Leroy's coming over here._

"I'll figure something out." Leroy walked up and took a seat next to her on the bench. "Mom, it's been great talking to you, but Leroy's just come up…" The guy in question waved his hand at his name. "He says hello, and we're going to go to the cantine for some breakfast."

"Go ahead, don't let me keep you," Mary Margaret imparted. "Stay out of trouble, honey."

"Already in it," she quipped back.

"I mean it, Emma," her mother said sternly. "It's not just yourself you have to worry about."

"I know, mom." She thought of Killian and his nagging the previous night. If he had anything to do with it, he'd never let her forget she was pregnant. "Trust me, I know."

The grin in her mother's tone was completely obvious when she next spoke. "I'll tell your father to call you. And I'll see you next weekend." Almost as an afterthought, as though she wasn't originally going to say it, she muttered, "I love you."

"Love you too, Mom. Bye." She tapped the end call button and turned her attention to the guy beside her. "Hi Leroy."

"Morning, Emma," he greeted her. "I was just making sure you were feeling alright 'cause you're white as a sheet, but I guess we're going to breakfast."

She waved him off and made a face of pointlessness. "You don't have to come to the cantine with me. It was just an excuse to get off the phone with my mother." The wind gusted again, ruffling the edges of both their coats. Emma pulled hers closer to her body to savor some of her body heat. "And I'm fine, thanks, just a little chilly."

"That's good to hear," his head nodding to further his point. "It would be my pleasure to escort you."

"Okay," she chortled, standing from the freezing metal. They walked the path he'd just wandered. It was a short walk, despite her complaints last night. There was just enough time to make polite small talk over classes and the weather.

When they entered the bustling cantine, the noise overwhelmed her ears alongside the scents engulfing her nose. Her stomach revolted like a livid sea, thrashing against her insides. She rested a hand against her abdomen, hoping her own touch with calm the storm inside. Everything smelled disgusting and even her go-to staple bananas looked unappetizing. She surveyed the long lines of hungover and tired college students and her eyes settled on the coffee machine. _That's it._

In her haste to leave the place, she forgot Leroy had accompanied her. She pressed a button and the machine spewed out steaming hot chocolate into a paper cup.

"Do you know where the whipped cream is?" she asked her friend, her eyes briefly glazing over as she watched the steam curl off the cup.

A bit confused, Leroy answered, "I think it's over by the waffles."

"Just go head and get whatever if you gonna," she said, leaving him to his own devices. "I'll meet you outside the registers."

Without waiting for his response, Emma hurried through the hordes of kids to the waffle station. The cool can of whipped cream called to her. She grabbed it from its cooler and squirted some on the top of her drink. She took a sip, but it wasn't all she wanted.

_There's something missing._

She searched high and low for something, _anything_ , that would complete the taste, when she saw the spices near the register. Taking a chance, she perused the small selection of spices, picked one up, and sprinkled some cinnamon on top of the cream. She paid the register lady and sipped while walking toward Leroy. A satisfied smile spread over her face.

_Perfect._

"Nothing to eat?" Leroy wondered. Killian's voice popped in her head at Leroy's question. _And remember to eat._ But then she thought of the almost catastrophe the mere smell of Ruby's breakfast caused and the ruckus upon coming into the cantine. _Nope. Eating is not an option right now._

"Nah. I don't think I could handle it right now."

"Fair enough," he supposed. Flicking a thumb over his shoulder, he asked, "You gonna stay or head back?"

Emma surveyed the dining area with all its pajama-clad eaters. "I think I'm gonna stay for a while. Thanks Leroy."

"Not a problem, sister." He saluted her, and took off back toward his room.

She followed him shortly, finding a small empty table she could sit at alone with her drink.

_Maybe I should tell him._

_It's none of his business. You weren't a couple._

_But this is as much his fault as it is yours._

_No. His fault. His fault._

_My fault. My fault._

This conflict continued relentlessly in her head as she sipped from her cup and played with the rim until the drink was gone. It would've gone on all day if she hadn't received a text from Belle, asking if she wanted to go into town for the day, maybe get a bite to eat, do some shopping. Just normal Saturday college things.

Normal. It was something she wouldn't be able to appreciate for much longer. Soon she would crave normal, just like she was craving more cocoa with cinnamon. _Maybe that's my craving. I can deal with that._ It wasn't like spaghetti and ice cream together, or prickly pears. Hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon was normal.

And normal sounded good.

She stood from her table and went to change for a normal afternoon outing with a friend while she still had the time.


	9. Chapter 9

A sleepy Sunday led to a manic Monday, straight into a largely uneventful week. Emma's morning heaving got worse, occurring more than once a day and actually producing something. It'd gotten to the point where she had to email her professors, apologizing for her absence and promising to turn in her work the next session. All of them were understanding enough (apparently, a stomach bug was ravaging the campus.) While she kneeled on the gray tile floor, her cheek resting against the toilet seat, waiting for the current bout to run its course, she debated.

 _It_ is _his child. He should know._

_He hasn't talk to you since said child was conceived._

_He should still know._

_If he comes by before spring break, I'll tell him._ She thought about it more _._

_Why do you want to give him so many chances?_

_It's his child._

_SO?_

_If he contacts me in anyway before spring break, I'll tell him. That's fair, right?_

Spring break was less than a month away. She could deal with that. She'd lasted this long. And, honestly, if he wasn't going to make an effort, then why should she?

Besides, she had Killian. Killian, who checked on her every day, if not in person then via text. He even walked her back to their building after his Tuesday practice, offering to carry her bag and all. They researched more in his room that night, and she even got the chance to meet his roommate.

Robby was a sweetheart, completely head-over-heels in love with his girlfriend Regina. When he walked in, shaggy hair in his face and mouthing 'Hello' to Killian and Emma as they sat on the couch, he was on the phone with Regina, making sure she got home safely. After hanging up, he made polite small talk with the both of them, cracking a few jokes and never asking why or how the two had become such fast friends. He just muttered something about "best yet" and stuck his headphones in his ears.

Emma liked him a lot.

Friday rolled around, bringing with it the usual relief and a little bit of anxiety on Emma's part. She was more than ready to go home, even if it took two and a half hours in a car with her dad. But her bed and her mother's cooking were the light at the end of that tunnel, and she couldn't seem to get there fast enough.

She hurried about the room, shoving clothes into a bag and searching for every piece of dirty laundry she could find. Free washer and dryer opportunities only came around about every two months, and Emma was desperate to use those times to their full extent. Ruby gave a watchful eye from the comfort of her bed, her heels kicked off and her phone cast to the side.

"Do you really have to go home this weekend?" she whined.

Sighing, Emma replied, "Yes, Ruby. For the twelfth time, I do."

"Butttt Emmmmaaa," she moaned, kicking her heels into her mattress, "Victor's invited us to a party tonight and you have to be there."

"Why?" she asked, sitting up from her crouched position next to her bed (she'd been known to lose socks underneath). "You don't need a wingwoman anymore."

Ruby say up and dangled her legs off the edge of her bed. "You hardly go out anymore. I just want you to have fun."

"Don't worry about me," she chided. "Go enjoy yourself."

Her roommate's groans were interrupted by the shrill tones of Emma's phone. She patted around her clothes-laden bed until she discovered her phone beneath a pile of socks. The caller ID told her it was her father.

"Hey," she loudly said. "It's my dad. Keep it clean."

After Ruby let out a resounding chorus of "EMMA, PUT YOUR PANTS ON!" she answered her father's call.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hey, princess." His voice came out tinny, a tell-tale sign he was in the area. Reception sucked, though no one was quite sure why. "I'm just pulling into a spot, so I'll be in the lobby in a minute."

Surprised, Emma stopped him. "Oh, don't worry, I'll just bring my stuff down and then we-"

"No," he interrupted, "no, I'm coming up. I want to say hello to Ruby."

Emma glanced at the brunette, her nose stuck to her phone like usual. "Okay. I guess I'll be down in a minute."

The line went dead after that. She pulled back to view the screen, then shrugged her shoulders. She muttered something about her return, which Ruby waved off. Grabbing her keys, she dashed down the hall to the elevator. She jammed the down button, _please don't let me see anyone_ , until the metal doors opened to admit her.

David was waiting for her when she got to the ground floor. Without a second's hesitation, she ran from the lift and into her father's arms. She felt his strength crush her in the most comforting way, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head to protect his little girl.

"Hi, Dad," she mumbled into his neck.

"Hey there," he said in return. They pulled back to face each other. Her eyes slid shut as her father kissed her on the forehead. "How's it going, kiddo?"

Dragging him into the elevator, Emma said, "It's going." She sighed and pressed the button to her floor. She wondered whether her mother had actually held off in telling him about the progression of her situation.

Making sure that they were, in fact, alone in the lift, she decided to tell him regardless.

"So," she started slowly, looking into the reflection of the doors. "I went to the health center this week…" She should just spit it out, but the words stuck like molasses in her throat.

She saw his apologetic smile in the mirror of the door. "I know." She rolled her eyes and looked to him, managing to brandish her sass in the roll of her neck. He shrugged innocently. "Your mother's a terrible secret keeper."

Sighing, she relented. "She really is." Then, turning her eyes to changing floor numbers lighting up, she complained, "I wanted to tell you. Hear it from the horse's mouth and everything."

David's arm wrapped around her shoulder and brought his daughter into his side. "I was going to pretend I didn't know, but you seemed to be having trouble getting it out."

"It's not an easy thing to tell your father."

"I know, honey." Emma leaned her head on his shoulder and he kissed the crown of her head. "I know."

The doors opened to reveal the sad attempts at hallway cheeriness in hopes of washing away the winter blues. They walked down the hall, father's hand at the small of daughter's back. The door still hung open from Emma's departure, and Ruby had yet to move an inch.

"Hi Ruby," he greeted her from the doorway. Ruby threw her phone to the side and stood up, awkwardly waving.

"Hello, Mr. Nolan. How are you doing?"

"I'm well, thank you for asking." He paused before adding, "At least I'm better than a red stoplight."

Ruby tilted her head to her shoulder. "Why is that?"

Snickering to himself, he said in a faux stage whisper, "I'm not changing in the middle of the street."

Emma grumbled wordlessly. Dad jokes were the bad in the first place, but her father's dad jokes were the worst. She felt her face redden and she buried her face in the bag she was picking up, just knowing he had the stupidest proud smile on his face.

Politely laughing, Ruby shoved her hands down her back pants' pockets. "Good one, Mr. Nolan." She looked to Emma's ostrich-like posture and started edging toward the door. "I have to go somewhere, but it was nice seeing you again, Mr. Nolan. Have a good weekend at home, Emma."

The pair gave a chorus of "Bye, Ruby." David watched the brunette flit into the hall. Turning to his daughter, he quietly asked her, "Have you told her yet?"

"No," she said into her bag.

Approaching her, he gently placed his hand on her curved back, following her spine up and down in a pacifying motion. "That's probably for the best."

"I know, Dad. Everyone's telling me that."

At that moment, a hollow knock sounded on the wood.

"Hey Swan, I was..." He trailed off. Emma uncurled herself to see Killian standing on the threshold, hanging off the frame as he usually did. He grinned at her, but his eyes soon shifted to the man next to her. Much like with Ruby, Emma watched the charm switch on. The boyishness fled from his features and his arms moved to rest on his hips. He bounced off the doorframe and walked into the room, his entire presence dictating the power rested with him (which Emma found very presumptuous, but she let it be for the moment.)

Her father, to his credit, wasn't impressed. He mirrored Killian nearly identically, his face turning stoic and his lips forming a thin line.

"Good afternoon," he said in a low voice. He propelled his hand out. "My name is Ki-"

David's fist connected with Killian's jaw, subsequently cutting him off. Killian fell against her desk, his hand covering the majority of his face, as David prepped another punch.

"DAD!" Emma screamed. She grabbed the insides of her father's elbows and pulled him from behind. They wrestled, David lurching forward while his daughter yanked him back, until Emma managed to wrangle him on to Ruby's bed. "Are you crazy or something?" He made to stand again, but a shove on his shoulders kept him down. Emma paused defensively for a moment, like an owner trying to detain their dog, before rushing over to Killian.

"Isn't he the father?" her father harshly hissed. He studied his knuckles for injuries and, finding none, shook them out, trying to regain the feeling in his hand.

"Of course not!" she hastily answered. Her focus was solely on Killian. She forced him up by his shoulder and took his face into the palms of her hands. Other than a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, he seemed to be unscathed. Turning his head this way and that, she asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

"Nothing a little time and ice won't heal." His hand came up to cover hers, calming her with small drawings on the back of her hand. Emma wiped away his blood with her thumb, unintentionally tracing the curve of his bottom lip. Her eyes rose slowly to meet his. They were back to their normal shade of blue, like the sky and the ocean and a robin's egg all together, and sparkling with…something. _What is he thinking in that head of his?_

She gave him a small smile, patted him on the cheek, and drew away from him. "Dad, this is Killian Jones," she presented. "He's been helping me out with research and stuff." Then, turning to her father, she added, "Killian, this is my father, David Nolan."

Killian approached him and offered his hand again, if not with a little more caution. David rose from the bed and grasped it firmly. "Sorry, Killian," he apologized. "Just doing my fatherly duty."

His voice came out a little shaky, but the respect tinging Killian's "Understandable, sir" was indisputable. _Did he think Dad posed some sort of threat?_ she thought.

"You've been watching after her?"

"Watching, yes." He chanced a glance at her. "Your daughter is quite a marvel. Watching is all she'll let me do." It took him a moment to realize some sort of accidental innuendo beneath his compliment. Emma didn't catch it, couldn't think it through, but rolled her eyes when she noticed him reaching for that spot behind his ear, the telling sign of embarrassment and nerves. _In front of my father, of course he'd turn all withdrawn_.

Scratching said place, he corrected himself. "What I mean is that she's quite capable of fending for herself."

Her father sighed and pulled her into his chest. "Always has been." Almost tiredly, he said, "Guess she was bound to have a lapse in judgment sooner or later."

"Dad," Emma uttered, freeing herself from his embrace. "I didn't have a lapse in judgment. I made a mistake, just like all humans do. I'm human."

"And so am I, Emma." In a moment of tenderness she missed, David kissed her on the head. She should've cared that Killian was in the room, less than five feet from them, but in the hustle of the recent insanity, all Emma wanted was her dad, replacing the pain of a boo-boo with his warmth and unending love.

And she was getting it, even if it were for only the short amount of time until Killian cleared his throat. David pulled back, not letting her stray far, and checked his watch. "We better get going if we're going to get home in time for dinner."

Snapping out of her daze, Emma agreed and started picking up her things. Her father halted her before she could even lift a finger, hoisting it over his shoulder instead. Confused, she hesitantly mumbled, "Um, okay."

David looked to Killian, who merely shrugged. "You're not supposed to lift heavy things while pregnant," he told her, dumbfounded.

An incredulous laugh bubbled up her throat. "Dad, I help you stack firewood in the winter," she reasoned with him. Motioning to the bag on his shoulder, she said, "I've helped mom haul kills heavier than that."

"He's got a point, lass," Killian chimed in.

Like a pinball between bumpers, Emma's head bounced between the two men. Her jaw dropped. "Don't you two gang up on me," she scolded them. "I'm barely pregnant, not an invalid. I can carry some of my own stuff."

"Swan, weren't you begging me to carry your bookbag back from practice the other night?"

An accusatory finger pointed at him. "Extenuating circumstances, Jones."

"Practice?" David inquired.

"Yessir," Killian informed him, smug smile and all. "Your daughter and her roommate spend their Tuesday nights sitting in the stands while I box with the rest of the team."

He curiously looked at his daughter. "Is that so?"

"Heh, yeah. It is," she awkwardly admitted. She licked her lips, waiting for either of them to change the subject.

But, when they didn't get the social cue, she clapped her hands. "Well, this has been fun, but we've got to get home." She shooed David out the door. "You know the way out, Dad. I've just got to lock up."

An eyebrow cocked in suspicion, David's gaze flitted between the two teenagers. "Alright," he conceded, "but be down in five minutes."

"Okay." The older man exited into the hall and Emma waited for the dinging of the elevator to shove Killian from her room. "I actually need to lock up. Move it, Jones."

They stood outside her closed door while she fumbled with the key. "Where are you off to, Swan?" he asked, leaning against the frame with crossed arms.

"C'mon, Killian, I thought you were smarter than that."

"You're going back home, I understand that," he said. His arms unwound and he came to rest his hand on her shoulder. She looked up, key in the lock. "But why?"

She checked the hallway for passersby. _Just my luck, someone super smart would pass and connect all the dots._ In hushed tones, she informed him, "I've got an ultrasound."

His lips parted in an understanding 'Oh.' Just as quietly, he asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," she reassured him. "Don't worry about me."

"I'm bound to worry about you, Swan," he declared. That smirk of his found its way onto his face. "It's my occupation."

Emma scoffed, but returned the smile. "Maybe you should look for a new one," she joked.

"Why quit a job I love?" he asked in all severity. Emma flinched, daring only to stare at the door in front of her. _What the fuck does that mean?_ Did he actually enjoy dealing with her shit? Or did he mean something more, something that she definitely couldn't fathom right now?

_You're overanalyzing this. Calm down._

Oblivious to the train of thought derailing in her head, Killian continued forward. "You have my number now," he whispered. "If it gets to be too much, you know where I'll be."

She pulled the key from the lock and tested the door. It shook, but didn't open. She started down the hallway, despairingly saying, "Yeah, here, partying it up like every other college student."

His brows rose as he pushed off the wall and followed her, but he smiled anyway. "Who knows? Robby's gone for the weekend. I'll have the room all to myself." He leaned closer, his chin nearly resting on her shoulder even while they walked. "Who knows what hijinks I might find myself in?"

Jealousy shot through Emma. _Why?_ Killian wasn't _hers_ : he was his own person, an attractive, popular college boxer who had girls lining up to even breathe the same air. He was free to go out to parties and bring those skanks, _no, girls_ , home, especially when he had his shared room all to himself. She offhandedly wondered how many of those girls he'd seduced or even disrobed on the same couch he'd comforted her on.

_It doesn't matter. He owes you nothing._

Nevertheless, she took her frustration out on the lift button, jamming it into the wall with her entire body and forcibly getting his chin away from her. "Well, have fun. And don't be a moron." Her hand flourished over her person to impress her point. "I don't know what I'd do if you were thrusted into this same situation now. Who would I trust?"

She only caught the tail end of a sadness in Killian's eyes. He masked it well, but she could sense it. Something about her 'situation' pained him, and for a practical stranger to clash with their own demons just to be there for her was…well, she couldn't think of a word. "You'll always have me, Swan," he eased her. The shiny doors opened, but Emma could take her eyes from his. "Now go. I don't want to cross your father."

Nodding, she looked away and took a step into the lift. The doors were nearly closed when she stuck her hand in between them. Licking her lips, she quickly hopped out and, relieved to see Killian hadn't moved yet, threw her arms around his waist. With all her might, she squeezed him. He was solid, he was strength, he was warm. He was standing alone in the hallway, no intention of going anywhere, making sure she departed safely. _He can have his fun, but this moment here is ours._

Just as she was about to let go, she felt his head duck to hers and his arms wound around her.

"See you soon, Killian," she mumbled into his chest.

"Safe travels, Swan," he whispered into her hair.

Emma heard the doors sliding shut again and reluctantly let go, once again sticking her arm in between.

Completely ignoring the blush coloring her cheeks, she convinced herself that embrace was for his benefit.

_Maybe that'll cheer him up._

It certainly cheered her.


	10. Chapter 10

About three or four hours of traffic and country roads alike, David pulled his truck to the curb of their apartment building. Storybrooke, Maine, as it was, was the quintessential American town. Small enough for everyone to know their neighbors, white picket fences, family-owned and run shops, Emma's hometown was little more than the blinking traffic light on Main Street. That was about 80% of the reason she'd decided to even apply to a university further away: Portland was the closest city, and it was at least an hour's drive on a good day. Sure, she'd always be the small town girl she was raised as, but everybody's should experience more than that in their life, shouldn't they?

The car ride was spent ignoring the elephant in the room, (or, rather, vehicle) but not in silence. David inquired into other aspects of his daughter's life, from her professors' attitudes to the basketball team's season thus far. She, in turn, asked about the cases he was working on and the well-being of the officers and staff she knew he worked with. It was nice, just catching up with her dad. It was something she wished she did more often, but never thought about until after the phone line had gone dead.

He insisted on carrying all but Emma's handbag up the three flights to their door ahead of her. Normally, she would've protested, but after his persistence in front of Killian and their traveling conversations, she despaired to ruin the moment.

From the second she glimpsed the bronze 3 on the green door, Emma, in a biological mystery, felt herself simultaneously tense and relax. Her father unlocked the door and it swung open, revealing the old-style loft she'd grown up in. The kitchen table she'd done hours of homework on sat just to the right of the entrance, across from the stairs she'd embarrassingly tripped up multiple times a day. The living room, petite though it was, was beyond that, the television turned on but muted. Her mother had the habit of keeping it on while she was cooking dinner, if for no other reason than to keep her on her toes.

That's where she was now, fluttering from the oven to the stove and back. When Emma closed the front door, Mary Margaret halted in her fussing and, completely ignoring her husband's outstretched arms, hurried over to her daughter. Emma didn't even have time to drop her bag on the table, and she stumbled backwards at the force with which her mother enveloped her.

"Emma, honey," she mumbled into her neck. Emma eagerly returned the embrace. Mary Margaret pulled back and surveyed her, rotating her by her shoulders and barraging her with questions. "How are you? How are you feeling? Are you hungry? How's your morning sickness? Do you have any? I remember when I was pregnant, it wasn't so much morning sickness as it wa-"

"Mom," she laughed out. "I just got home. Give me a little time and I'll answer all your questions." Mary Margaret stopped, but, after finishing her inventory of Emma, soon opened her mouth to continue. Emma grasped her mother's arms and solaced her. "I'm fine. Really. I'm starved, in fact." Leaving her mother's embrace, she walked behind the kitchen island to see what was on the stove. It smelled heavenly, whatever it was. "What's for dinner?"

"Spaghetti," she answered, finally welcoming her husband home with a chaste kiss on the lips.

"How much longer do I have to wait for real food?"

Both her parents laughed. "You're actually right on time," Mary Margaret happily announced. "The noodles'll be ready in three or four minutes." She looked to the bags still in her husband's arms. "Honey, put those down. Emma can deal with them after dinner. Both you go wash up."

After some grumbling, Emma took some of her stuff up to her room, allowing her father time to brief her mother on the situation. They had no secrets, either because they simply knew when there was something to say or her mother couldn't keep anything hidden. She turned the knob to her room, and opened it up to find the dying sun's rays stretching like a cat on her carpet. Nothing had changed since she was home last, at least not at first glance. Emma dropped her bag to the ground and washed her hands in the adjoining bathroom.

When she returned, she wrenched open her cedar wardrobe (10-year-old Emma thought it was a brilliant idea to stick her diary in between drawers and the storage unit never really recovered from it) and dug through it for something comfy she could spend the rest of the night in. Finding a pair of ragged pair of sweatpants and a high school track shirt, she quickly exchanged her school clothes for their more comfy alternatives. Then she flopped backwards on her bed, waiting until her mother yelled for her.

She remembered being a little girl in this room: the dollhouse in the corner, covered in dust, and the stuffed animals above her head stood as a testament to those long-gone years. She'd lost her first tooth in this room, precariously placed it under her pillow and prayed the Tooth Fairy would appreciate it. The number of nightmares and dreams she'd had in this room were infinite, but she always woke in the morning comforted by the familiarity her warm walls had offered.

This was her home if there ever was one. It reflected her evolution from a girl to a woman from the variety in the titles on the shelves to the clothes in her closet. It had been a subtle change, one that she only fully recognized now that it was about to change again. From the safe haven of a little girl to the home of a mother and child.

_Lots of changes coming._

"Dinner!"

Emma sighed and, just as she did when she was younger, struggled to get up from the fluff of her bed. She hopped down the stairs, keeping a tight grip on the railing (she was famous for tripping both down and up them) and slid gracefully into her seat at the table just as David placed a steaming serving bowl of spaghetti in the center. The trio served themselves and all stayed quiet for a little bit, except for the clacks and scraps of silverware against plates.

Mary Margaret was the one who finally broke the silence. "So you've got an appointment tomorrow at noon. You'll be up by then?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course," Emma assured her. Setting her fork down, she added, "Thanks again, Mom, for calling them."

Lips pursed, her mother nodded, focusing intently on the swirl of pasta on her fork.

"You're going with her?" her father inquired, a twirl of noodles halfway to his mouth.

"Of course."

Silence ensued once more, Emma picking at her plate, until David sighed and asked the question that had been on his mind since he pulled into the parking spot at the university. "So do we get to know anything about this entire situation or are we going in blind?"

His daughter groaned. "Look, I want to tell you about my sex life as much as you want to hear it," she addressed them. She put her fork down again, this time permanently. This conversation was inevitable, she knew, but still. It ruined her appetite. "It was just a mistake."

"Emma," Mary Margaret reprimanded her, "how did this happen? Did you forget to use a condom or something? Could this have been prevented?"

Alarms rung throughout her head. _Lie, lie, lie._ She was already disappointing her parents to an immeasurable degree. Knowing that she had put herself in this situation would be the nail in the coffin. _LIE._

"It just happened," she settled for. "It could've been prevented, but apparently the condom thought otherwise." _Not a complete lie,_ she thought. _That'll do for now._

David harrumphed in vague satisfaction. "So long as you were being safe."

"Don't worry," she guaranteed them, her hands coming up in place of a white flag. "No chlamydia or the likes here."

Mary Margaret groaned at her daughter's crassness. Emma internally smiled. Her style of speaking had gotten a bit more vulgar since going away to school and sometimes she just forgot to censor it when she came home.

All business, David asked "And the father?" In between bites of salad, he added "What about him?"

Emma shook her head. "We just hooked up a couple times, nothing real serious. I haven't told him yet, and I'm not sure I'm going to."

Her parents shared a look before Mary Margaret gently said, "He deserves to know, Emma."

"And I deserve to get a college education without worrying about a child of mine somewhere else," she replied. Anger rose up in her. This was typical of her mother: never knowing the entire story, she judged that everyone deserves a second chance. Always believed the best in everyone. It's how she and her father even ended up together. Mary Margaret also had this naïve idea that you only ever fell in love once, and that person was always your first love. And, honestly, if Neal was all Emma had to look forward to for the rest of her life, maybe she was better off without one. "If I judge that this picture will be better off without him, then he can take his pity and use it for some other girl."

Both sets of eyebrows shot up across the table from her, as did the tension level in the room. She had to repress a smirk, her lips rolling inward, because the motion remind her so much of Killian. _Who, suspiciously, always seems to come to my attention at the most inopportune moments._ "How very decisive and adult of you," her father commented.

"Really though," Emma agreed. Waving her hand like royalty dismissing court, she decreed, "No more decision-making for me today. I've filled my daily quota."

The table burst into laughter, successfully diffusing the tension temporarily. "I think we can agree to that."

"Good," Emma smilingly said as she got up, dirty dishes in hand. She walked to the kitchen and stood with her hipbones against the sink. Her parents had always been the kind who, even though there was a perfectly good dishwasher right underneath the counter, made their daughter 'build character' and 'learn discipline' through the action of hand washing dishes. It was medieval, sure, and it had been one of her most frequent childhood complaints, but when she realized she was one of maybe a handful of freshman on campus who could properly do so, Emma let it go.

She vaguely heard the murmurs of her parents as they finished eating over the rushing of the spigot water. Her father cleared his throat and she tipped an ear to hear what he said. "However," David said in a low voice, "I'm going to force one last decision out of you."

Emma moaned and whirled around to regard her parents at separate ends of the table. "What now?" she asked exasperatedly, remnants of soap suds still on her hands.

They caught each other's sights and shared a secret smile before her mother said, "Will you do us the honor of choosing tonight's viewing pleasure?"

Shaking her head and chuckling, Emma replied, "Yeah, I think I can handle that."

That night, safely flanked on the couch by her mother and father, Emma enjoyed the cinematic excellence of _Captain America: The First Avenger_ , if for no other reason than she got to discuss battle tactics with David and gawk at the man candy with Mary Margaret. They talked and laughed and had she not know otherwise, Emma wouldn't have suspected a shift in the way they lived. It was normal. _It's nice to be home._

When the credits began to roll, she stood up from the couch and stretched. Despite her father's insistence that she stay for the ending scene, _we all know it's there, but I saw this in theaters and saw it then,_ she bid her parents goodnight with a kiss on each of their cheeks. She left them in the living room, the volume of the credit music fading away as she stepped higher toward her room. Just as she had earlier that evening, she sagged onto her bed and thought. About school, about the future, about the impeccable physique of one Christopher Evans ( _man, oh man. If only he was the other half of my predicament)_.

But just before she went to bed, another man, darker hair, eyes more blue than gray, and, though she hate to admit it, less muscular. _Always showing up at inconvenient moments, but always thankful you're there._

She lay staring at her ceiling, covered in glow-in-the-dark stars from god knows how many years ago. Real quickly, she grabbed her phone and sent off a text. _Hopefully he'll get the reference._ Throwing her phone to some dark corner of her room, she then turned over and went to sleep with a giddy grin on her face.

_Even if you were to cross my father, I'd still pick you to win._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to leave a word, question, comment, concern. You know the deal.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS DISCUSSION OF ABORTION IN THIS CHAPTER. IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, PLEASE SKIP IT.

Midmorning light dragged Emma from her slumber the next morning. With a refreshing breath of familiarity, she roused and felt around her nightstand for her phone. Sleep still on the edge of her vision, she rubbed her eyes until she could read the notification on her lock screen, indicating Killian had responded to her text at roughly three in the morning.

_Care to put your money where your mouth is, Swan?_

She smiled at his cockiness and tapped back, _You're not fighting him. You've got experience on your hands and he barely remembers basic training._

After a long session of stretching and the quotidian struggle of whether to roll over and reach for sleep again, she got up and went downstairs to find Mary Margaret already bustling about. Every weekend, she and David both tidied up the apartment, getting rid of last week's mess and preparing for this week's. When Emma was little, she valiantly tried to get out of their ritual, asking to visit a friend or complaining of too much schoolwork, but the conditioning seemed to have taken anyways, something Emma realized when she was making her bed and asking around for a vacuum the first weekend of school.

"Oh good, you're up," her mother commented, scrubbing the sink. "I was just about to come up and get you."

"No, managed to do so all by myself."

The motherly stare Mary Margaret gave her made Emma grin. "I don't need that kind of sass this morning."

Guiltily, she apologized, "Sorry, Mom." Shuffling to the kitchen, she dug through the cabinets in search of a cereal bowl and the Cheerios her parents always kept in stock. With breakfast in tow, Emma sat at the counter eating, watching her mother finish cleaning the sink then move to folding the blankets they had used last night in the living room. After a bite, Emma sighed and admitted, "I guess I'm just nervous."

Mary Margaret finished folding the blanket over her arm and came over to the stool her daughter was sitting at. Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, she quietly comforted her. "There's nothing to be nervous about." A kiss on her temple, and she went off back into the kitchen as she reminisced. "I remember going to my first ultrasound for you. I was kind of nervous, but your father was sweating bullets on the car ride over, doing that thing of his when he's nervous and just talking my ear off."

Her eyes were foggy with the memory and slid shut to contain her emotions. The sight of her mother like that had Emma gently putting her spoon in her empty bowl.

Mary Margaret giggled, caught up in a moment from long ago. "He just did that, all morning. Even in the waiting room. But then we heard your heartbeat and he just...just stopped." Her hand came over her heart, adding to the memory's effect by timing her life's own soundtrack to that of her unborn child's. She opened her eyes. "Even then he was wrapped around your finger."

Emma had silent tears falling, and her mother noticed them with a start. "Oh, Emma, don't be scared." She rushed to her daughter's side and took her shoulders into her chest. "It's okay, I'm going to be there the whole time."

Her sobs turned into hiccupped laughs. "I'm not crying because I'm afraid." She loosened herself from her mother's grasp and wiped her eyes on the shoulder of her shirt. "That was just such an adorable story and I don't know why I'm crying about it."

"Hormones," was the answer her mother provided. They hugged each other with all their strength, laughing into each other's ears. "They're the worst."

After letting each other go, they kept up a nice conversation while Emma cleaned her dishes. Mary Margaret told her as she finished that they had to leave soon, so she jogged upstairs to get ready. T-shirt, jacket, jeans ( _because they weren't going to fit her much longer)_ , socks and beloved boots ( _they were cowboy boots and they had been on sale, but hadn't made the cut when she moved to school_ ). Brush her teeth, deal with her hair, grab her phone, and out the door she went.

When she settled into the passenger seat of her mom's station wagon and the vehicle sputtered to life, Emma checked her phone. Another text from Killian, this one much shorter and sent mere minutes after her response.

_I'll go easy on him?_

Emma smiled and locked her phone. Mary Margaret glanced over to her before turning her eyes back to the road. "What's got you all smiley?"

She shook her head. _Killian's involvement isn't what she needs to know right now._ "Now I'm excited." Emma bit her bottom lip, uncertain about the sudden change in feeling, and fiddled with her fingers over her phone. "Is this what I have to look forward to?"

Trying to hide her smile, her mother responded, "Mood swings get worse."

Emma groaned, her head rolling back on the headrest as her mother stifled a giggle.

They reached the office just on the outskirts of Storybrooke, right next to the hospital, in no time at all. The anxiety from breakfast returned with a vengeance, accompanied by the roiling of the cereal in her stomach. She followed her mother into the waiting room and approached the check-in counter, growing greener and greener with each step.

The receptionist pleasantly said, "Hello, what can I do for you?"

"We're here for an appointment."

"What's the name?"

Before Mary Margaret could answer, Emma's gag reflex acted. "Is there a bathroom or a trashcan or something?" she asked hastily.

The woman behind the counter's eyes widened. "Of course." She pointed to a door off to the side of the room. Emma ran, her mind blank of anything but her destination, and tugged the door opened, letting it slam closed on its own. Just in time, too, because she barely had enough time to kneel down before breakfast and dinner made an encore appearance.

_This is the worst part._

_The worst part so far._

She leaned her head on the rim of the bowl until this wave had passed. Then, the cold of the tile tightening her joints and slowing her, she rejoined her mother in the waiting room. Mary Margaret sympathetically offered her a mint and some crackers.

"The receptionist says it happens all the time," she assured her. "Don't worry about it."

Emma propped her head on her mother's shoulder, aimlessly staring at the floor in front of her feet, until her name was called. It could've been the longest wait of her life. As if she was anxiously awaiting the results of an exam, unpleasant thoughts and 'what-ifs' filled her mind. But, in the same vein, a nap, albeit brief, made the time pass much quicker.

A technician came to the front of the counter and grabbed a file from the receptionist. After a short onceover, she approached the Nolan women.

"Miss. Nolan, I'm Mulan Hua," she introduced herself with a handshake. "If you ever need anything, Emma, you're going to be my patient. I'm going to be in charge of you. Don't be ashamed or embarrassed to ask anything."

Mulan continued to speak, going over basics and the ins and outs of what her job entailed, but Emma's eyes glazed over and she internally hoped her mother was listening. _She's not judgmental_ , she thought, never once mentioning the fact that Emma was a pregnant minor. To Mulan, she was just another patient, and it was the first time anybody, save Killian, hadn't thought badly of her because of the situation she's in. _Not that many know._

When her briefing was done, Mulan led them past the reception counter, down a hall into a darker room set up much like Emma expected: a reclining chair next to a little monitor. _Just like in the movies_.

The technician kindly asked her to sit down and pull her shirt up off her stomach. Mary Margaret stood sentry next to her and took Emma's hand in her own. The movement caught Mulan's eye.

"This your mom?"

Emma nodded. Mulan smiled up at Mary Margaret. "Bit nostalgic?"

Mary Margaret barked out a laugh. "Little bit."

Chuckling to herself, Mulan turned the contraption in front of her on (at least Emma assumed. Noises burst from it and the monitor fizzled to life with the hum of a television) and produced a tube of goo from practically nowhere while it booted up. "This is gonna be cold," she advised her. Emma nodded again, inhaling in surprise as she squirted the tube onto her bare stomach.

"Jesus, I thought that was just a ploy." Mulan raised an eyebrow. "You know," Emma clarified, "like a movie trick or something?"

Both older women laughed. "It's the cold, hard truth," Mulan informed her, unaware to the pun she'd just made. Taking the wand of the contraption in hand, Mulan brought it over to her body and hovered it over her abdomen. "Ready?"

Squeezing her mother's hand, Emma once again nodded. _Have I lost my voice or something?_ The transducer touched her stomach and, after a moment of complete and utter silence, the room filled with a thudding that sounded like an underwater dance club heard from the surface.

"That's the heartbeat," Mulan enlightened her, clicking a couple buttons on the machine. "Nice and strong."

"Heartbeat?" Emma said, her voice breaking the word in half.

"Yup." Emma looked to Mary Margaret, who pointed to the monitor next to Mulan. Emma flipped her head to look at it. It was black and white, kind of an endless black hole taking up the entire screen. In the bottom right corner of the black hole, there was a gray circle, maybe as big as a marble, if that. Mulan's gloved finger directed their attention to it. "That's the fetus. About eight or nine weeks along, if I were to guess."

Mary Margaret clutched Emma's hand with excitement, _she's happy_ , but Emma was just dumbstruck. _Shouldn't I be happy?_ Up until this moment, she'd held out hope that the home test, the bloodwork, the throwing up, everything was just a mere coincidence, a severe case of the flu or something. She couldn't be pregnant.

But this…this picture, this video, this whatever it was, was proof. Certifiable visual proof: there was a baby, a child, another human being growing inside her. It was overwhelming and nerve-wracking and Emma had never felt so much than in this moment right here. _Too much._ She just wanted to roll over and wake up to a blaring alarm clock on the first day of her freshman year of college. Nothing had happened yet. Everything was new and exciting and held so much promise.

Startling her, her mother's fingers skimmed her cheek, interrupting tears in their paths and bringing her back to the moment. She sniffed. _That's silly. No going back now._

Mulan pressed a couple more buttons on the monitor and said something to Mary Margaret, but it was all fuzzy to Emma. She was drifting back into her own little world. _A baby._

"Emma?" Emma hummed in recognition of Mulan's voice. "You can sit up now."

She did so, with the aid of Mary Margaret, gathering that the goo hardly remained on her stomach. _Mulan must have wiped it off._

Shutting the system down, Mulan swirled around on her stool and looked at Emma. "Now, I know it's kind of premature," she started tentatively, "but have you thought about the future?"

"What do you mean?" Emma asked, fixing her shirt nervously.

"Well, you're in college, right?" She nodded. _Stop that. Use your words._ "There's lots of different options, depending on how prepared you feel you are."

Emma scoffed. "Do you see me? I can barely drive. My mom still comes to these kinds of things with me." She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I'm not prepared to take care of myself, let alone another person."

"I understand completely," Mulan consoled. "But you still haven't answered my question."

Mary Margaret took Emma's shoulder in her grip. "What are these options?" she asked on her daughter's behalf.

"Well," Mulan stated, opening the file folder and pulling out some informational packets. Emma waved them off, _I've done my research online_ , but Mary Margaret took them and skimmed them as Mulan spoke. "There's obviously riding this whole experience out, keeping the baby at the end of it. There's also adoption, opened and closed. In older times, the parents would pass of their daughter's child as their own, raise them as siblings, if you want to keep the child in the family."

She paused for a moment. Emma looked at her, and could tell that whatever she said next held the weight of a planet on her conscious. "But, and this is my professional opinion, not my personal one, you might be best off terminating the pregnancy."

Mother and daughter both stopped breathing. "What?" her mother said, the brochures the technician had handed her falling to the ground.

"An abortion," she qualified. Holding her hands up in a defensive manner, she bowed her head and continued, "I don't pretend to know what your thoughts on the matter are and I'm not here to refute them." Her eyes rose slowly, meeting Emma's at the same height. "But, as someone who studied these situations for years and who's seen it first hand, it's what's best for you."

Her hands came down from their position and one grabbed Emma's, almost as if Mulan was pleading. "Emma, you're young. You've got your entire life ahead of you. Go to school, get a job, and once you're ready to settle down, then try again. Having a child this early in life could severely harm your health, increase your chances for illnesses later in life. It's better for the fetus as well: you're not fully mature yet, your body isn't equipped for the changes that come with pregnancy. Children born to teenage mothers have alarmingly higher risks of developmental and learning disabilities. It's the lesser of two evils."

Emma glanced at her mother beside her. Mary Margaret's face reddened, her mouth in an open O at the audacity this ultrasound technician was showing. But Emma…

 _She's got a point._ She'd done the research, seen the statistics Mulan spoke of. On paper, there really is no choice: the most logical solution to this problem was to end the pregnancy, here and now.

But Emma wasn't on paper. She wasn't a robot or Spock for that matter, making decisions based on how logical they were. She was human: a living, breathing human with emotions and baggage and stories no one else had lived that needed to be told. She was human: she made mistakes and dealt with the consequences in a thought process that took less than a heartbeat.

 _Heartbeat._ She thought of the little underwater rave going on in her stomach and carefully placed a hand on top of it.

"How dare you," Mary Margaret harshly said. "To even assume that she would think such a thing." Even though her brows furrowed, Emma was helpless to her mother's strong grip on her upper arm as she yanked her up. "Come on, Emma."

Emma allowed her mother to drag her to the door, but forcibly stopped them and unhanded herself at the threshold. She turned to Mulan, still seated on her twirly stool, and said, "Thank you. You've given me a lot to think about. And for…" she gestured to the whole medical set up behind the other woman. "That."

Mulan pleasantly smiled and shrugged. "Just doing my job."

Giving her a singular nod, Emma then led her mother out of the office and out to the car, without so much as another look behind.

In the car, Emma slumped in the passenger seat and scoured her face with her hands.

"Emma, are you seriously…"

She held up a hand to halt her mother's question. "Don't Emma me," she admonished her. "It's my life, one that I've already messed up enough. I'm going to make the decision I think is right for me."

"But you can't just think for yourself anymore," Mary Margaret meekly said, handing over a picture of the ultrasound. Emma took it, then breathed out a heavy sigh.

"Can we just go home now? I'm tired." _Which isn't really a lie, but I don't really want to deal with this right now._

The car ride home wasn't nearly as friendly or positive as earlier. Silence filtered in through the vents like the car's heating system. It ensued as they walked up to the apartment and separated at the bottom of its steps, Mary Margaret going off to call David and Emma to sulk in her room.

She, much like she had the night before, collapsed on her bed and stared at the ceiling constellations she created as a child. After a minute, she pulled the picture of the ultrasound out of her pocket and stared at that instead. Black hole marred by a little gray marble. _My little gray marble_.

And, because she felt the inexplicable need to, she took out her phone and snapped a picture of it, sending it to the only other person who would care, with the caption _Believe it or not_.


	12. Chapter 12

Dinnertime rolled around just as Emma woke from a nap she didn't know she was taking. She heard her phone chime, signaling a text message, just as she had dozed off, but continued to ignore it until she'd dealt with her parents.

Surprisingly enough, the Nolans made it through the entire meal without mentioning the whole 'knocked-up teenage daughter actually considers abortion' debacle. Emma spent most of the time pushing her food around the plate and giving monosyllabic responses to her parents' feeble questions.

"Do you want to go down to Granny's tonight? Maybe get one of her ice cream sundaes?" her father toward the end of dinner, trying to entice her out of her trance.

"No," she answered forlornly. She dropped her fork on her plate and stood up. "Dad, can you take me back to school after breakfast tomorrow?"

Before her husband could reply, Mary Margaret said, "Emma, if this is about earlier…"

Halfway to the kitchen sink, dirty dishes in hand, Emma interrupted her mother. "It's not," she huffed, slamming the silverware into the sink. "I just have a lot of school work to do, and I promised a friend I would help them study for history."

Emma knew her parents were having a silent conversation, her mother gesturing wildly and her father rolling his eyes. Finally, she heard the scraping of some chair legs and David came up behind her (she could tell simply by the way his feet fell on the wood floor) and rested a hand at the small of her back.

"Look at me," he commanded her, the authoritative tone she'd been frightened of as a child ringing through her eardrums. Soap still on her hands, she slowly turned around to face him. He tilted her chin up so she could see his green eyes, just like hers. "Your mother and I are just worried about you. You're your own woman, but we're just having a hard time recognizing that our baby girl is growing up." He kissed her head. Her eyes fluttered shut as the waterworks began. _This emotional rollercoaster has to stop. Also, I should drink more water if I'm going to keep crying at everything._ "Whatever decision you make, don't let anyone influence you. Your mother and I will respect you and be here for you no matter the outcome."

 _Keep the sobs to a minimum._ Biting her lip to do so, she fell into her father's arms, soapy hands and all. His one arm enveloped her as the other came up to cradle her head to his heart. Emma vaguely felt her mother join their embrace, one hand timidly resting below her father's on her back.

Emma pulled back and wiped her tears on her shirt sleeve. "Jesus, can't I just do one menial task without crying about it?"

They shared a laugh, Emma returning to her dishes, David's arm winding around Mary Margaret's waist, her hand coming to rest on his heart. _That perfect family Ruby's always going on about._

When dinner was a mere memory only evidenced by the drying dishes, her mother inquired if Emma wanted to watch another movie tonight. She declined the request, explaining that she was actually really tired and not trying to avoid anything. _Really. I swear. Also, I just need to be alone sometimes._ Both her parents wrapped her in separate embraces and kissed her on the forehead before she retired for the night, trudging to the bottom steps, fatigue finally catching up to her.

Remembering the text she received earlier, her slow shuffles turned into energetic leaps, bounding her up the stairs and casually tripping and catching herself on the top one.

Unlocking her still-charging phone, the text was, _of course_ , from Killian.

_I'd believe it if I knew what 'it' was._

She rolled her eyes at the sass she knew he'd sent his response with and quickly typed out a response.

_The gray blob in the corner? That's what you looked like about eight weeks after your conception._

He got back to her almost immediately. _Eager much?_ she thought.

_I refuse to believe that. I've always been this handsome._

Now she couldn't help but laugh aloud at his ridiculousness.

_Oh, I'm sure. But have you always been this arrogant?_

She sent her reply into cyberspace and changed into her pajamas. Her phone rang just as she popped her head out of her top.

_I am no such thing. I resent you for even insinuating such a notion. I can only assume you misspelled 'brilliant.'_

Biting her lower lip as she smiled, Emma shook her head. _Only he would use words like 'insinuate' and 'resent' in a text._ She placed her phone on her nightstand and huddled under the covers. _Pompous bastard._

Right as she stood on the edge of unconsciousness, the pesky boxer texted her again and, try as she might to quell it, her curiosity got the better of her.

_Congratulations Swan. You're going to be a stand-up mother._

0000

David gently shook her awake in the morning, jostling her only by resting a hand on her shoulder. "Do you want chocolate chip or blueberry pancakes?"

Even in her sleepy state, Emma answered "Chocolate chip" before her father could finish his question. Then she flipped over and fell back asleep.

The scent of breakfast broke her from unconsciousness the second time, maybe an hour or so later. She roused herself, got dressed, and fumbled downstairs and straight into her seat at the table.

"Good morning, honey," Mary Margaret greeted her, coffee in hand. Without hesitation, Emma reached across the table to pry the coffee from her mother's fingers. The hot caffeine was almost on her lips, she could feel the heat, when her mother gently wrenched away. "No coffee for you."

Emma groaned and clonked her head on the table. "I can have one cup, it's not going to hurt anyone." She peeked up to see her mother's reaction. Once Mary Margaret's neck swiveled sideways, her daughter returned to hiding her face. "How am I supposed to deal with people?" she asked into the wood grain.

"With these in your stomach and a smile on your face," her father smartly replied, placing her pancakes in front of her. Emma tipped her head up so only her chin rests on the table, grinding her top teeth into the bottom ones. Then she looked to her mother again.

"Do we have any bananas?" she inquired, the movements of her speech digging her chin further into the tabletop.

Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows and pointed to the counter, where a bunch of ripe bananas sat. Emma spun up from her chair and grabbed two. With her knife, she sliced both fruits over her pancakes and took a seat, discarding the peels next to her. One bite, and her nose scrunched up. Eyes intently staring at her plate, she blindly reached for the syrup and proceeded to drown her breakfast. Then she took another bite and a pleased grin tilted her mouth up.

Her mother, still holding her coffee mug, just gawked at her in mild disbelief.

"What?" Emma asked through a mouthful of food. "It's just like a chocolate-covered banana in pancake form."

"And the syrup?" her father questioned as he joined them at the table, his own meal in hand.

"Brings the whole piece together," she justified.

Emma scarfed down the plate in less time than it took for Mary Margaret to finish her half-empty cup and barely gave her father enough time to cut his flapjacks.

Gesturing to the remainder of the bunch, Emma asked, "Do you mind if I take those bananas back to school with me?"

Her mother scowled indifferently and shook her head. "By all means."

Grabbing the rest of the fruit, she informed David, "I'll be ready to leave in ten minutes." And without clearing her plate, she ran back up to her room, not waiting for his answer.

0000

"You're awfully bright today," her father remarked when he got in the truck. Emma was already in the passenger seat, all buckled up and ready to go.

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Must have been something I ate."

Turning the ignition, David scoffed. "You had breaded sugar for breakfast."

"So? I'm pregnant, I can eat what I want."

"Oh no you don't," he playfully scolded her. "No, you can't pull that on me. You can't go denying it and then making it your excuse whenever it suits you best. Maybe if you were married and 28, but not in this case."

"Hey," Emma barked. "I didn't want to believe it, but now I have an ultrasound image that gives me proof. If I'm going to go through with this, I've got seven more months of bitching ahead. I can do what I want."

David gave her a side-glance. "Watch your mouth." Emma shrugged and snuggled into the passenger seat, getting ready for a nice nap, when he slapped her shoulder. "Don't go falling asleep on me. Philip jammed the radio yesterday, so you're my only entertainment."

Licking her lips, Emma straightened up, thought, and finally suggested "You wanna play twenty questions?"

He gave her a side-eye of approval this time.

"You first or me?"

"I've got one," he proudly proclaimed.

"Alright," she allowed. Acting as though in deep thought, she tapped her chin before asking, "Is it the truck?"

Her father issued a fake gasp. "How'd you know?"

This, for some unknown reason, sent Emma into a fit of giggles. They continued in this way, playing car games reminiscence of long family road trips, for the entire drive, playing three rounds of 20 questions, five rounds of I Spy, two rounds of badly sung Guess the Song, and one unending round of Punch buggy.

"YELLOW PUNCH BUGGY!" Emma shouted triumphantly as David maneuvered his truck into a parking spot. "YES!"

"No fair!" he yelled back, slamming the parking brake down. "I was parking the car!"

Emma cackled as she practically fell out of the cab. She rushed around to the driver's side, a pep in her step as she waited for her father to exit. He did so fearfully: he knew _exactly_ what came next.

"No," Emma grunted, punching his bicep. "Punch." Another. "Backs." A third, and then she was off like a wild woman to the bed of the truck.

Her father followed her, rubbing the bruise that was surely forming there. "Jeez, has that boxer been giving you lessons?"

Smugly, she replied, "No, I learned it from my dad."

David scoffed, unlocking the bed and pulling out the few possessions his daughter brought back to school. "Next time you see him, make sure to send him my hospital bill." Distractedly, he glanced up at the dorm building shadowing them, then back to Emma. "You going to be okay?"

Her eyes followed trail of sight, seeing the windowsills of colors and shapes of college students. "Yeah. For now." She slung her bag strap over her shoulder. "I'll stay in touch."

"You better." They hugged, David's hand cradling the base of her skull. "Take care of yourself, princess." He pulled back with a small smile and knocked her lightly on the chin. "And if that boxer guy tries to pull anything on you, send him my way. No way in hell is he going to hurt my pregnant daughter."

She squeezed hand. "I'll keep that in mind." And because goodbyes were never her favorite things, she gave him one more quick hug. "Bye, Dad."

"Love you," he whispered in her ear.

They separated again, Emma starting to walk away, making the farewell all the more permanent. With a little wave, she offered him a "Love you too."

She watched him drive away from the warmer confides of the lobby, telling herself she wanted to make sure he left safely, not because she already missed him and he wasn't even gone yet.

The low "Hey, beautiful," that broke her concentration had her rolling her eyes.

"Hi," she greeted him, turning around to face the arrogance and brazenness in that too handsome face of his.

"Really," he said incredulously, arms spreading wide in disbelief. "You're gone for an entire weekend and you come back to this wonderful, heartfelt reunion and all you can say in return is 'hi'?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "I choked." Then she thrusted her bag at him. "Wanna carry my bag?"

Arms lowering, Killian sighed. "If the lady insists."

"I'm insisting." They strolled to the elevator leisurely and got in when it arrived a moment later. "So," she awkwardly started, "how was your weekend?"

"Uneventful," he answered with a tilt of his lips and a raise of his brow. "Attended a Kappa Alpha Psiparty, got a few numbers, practiced Saturday, got smashed with the boxing boys, may or may not have woken up this morning in an unknown bed..."

Emma dropped her jaw and rolled her eyes. "God, I'd hate to know what an eventful weekend is like."

His other eyebrow joined its brother, approaching his shaggy hairline. "Of course you would."

_How does he somehow make it sound sexy? It's just a cocky answer._

Just as the lift dinged for their floor ( _what awkwardly unpainful small talk that was_ ), he asked, "More importantly, how was your weekend?"

The doors opened and revealed none other than a rather perky Neal.

Her eyes widened comically, full-on deer-in-the-headlights mode. _Fuck._ Ice clogged her veins and she couldn't move, didn't move, even when Killian tried to guide her out, a hand to the small of her back that causes her to flinch infinitesimally.

A swift flit of those stupidly observant eyes told her he noticed.

"Hook, Emma," Neal said, unaffected by their lack of disembarquement and oblivious to the panic in Emma's eyes. "We're having a building meeting down in the lobby in ten minutes." He observed her bag on Killian's shoulder. A quizzical look appeared on his face. "Did you go home this weekend, Hook?"

"No, I did," Emma responded, snapping out of her funk. _Do it. You have proof._ She moved quickly, wanting to keep her momentum and courage while she had it. "Can I talk to you?" she asked curtly, stepping off the lift, Killian shortly behind her.

He stepped onto the elevator. "Come find me after the meeting."

"No," she demanded. "Now."

Neal glanced at Killian, who shrugged his shoulders, giving nothing away ( _he knows exactly what's going on_ ), and then Neal gave a resigned sigh. "Fine. But make it quick."

"It's a private matter," she explained in a clipped voice. "Can we talk in your room?"

Neal moaned, but waved them out of the way, leading them back to his room. It was messy, like any stereotypical guy room. While Killian and Robbie's room had the same feel, Emma walked in and immediately felt cramped by the piles of clothes and general man smell of the place. Being the R.A., he lived alone, which just meant there's more room for his shit and dirt.

He turned around when they arrived, taking a stand in the middle of his room. Emma assumed Killian followed them in because she heard the door close behind her and neither she nor Neal did it.

"What do you want?" he pretty much growled. His gaze flicked up to Killian at the door. "And if it's so private, why is he here?"

 _Out with it._ "Neal, I'm pregnant."

His jaw didn't drop, per se, but it did fall a little in disbelief. "W-What?" he finally stuttered out.

"I'm pregnant." She removed the ultrasound from her back pocket and, after a brief viewing of it herself ( _this is real_ ), held it up to him. "About two months along."

Taking it slowly into his grasp, Neal just stared at it, processing this new information. Then he snapped into R.A. mode. "Alright," he said calmly, moving to his desk in search of something. "I have the number to the health center and I'm sure they can help you out better than I can. From a residence point of view, the housing committee is going to have some issues with the situation, but if you talk to them sooner rather than later, they'll be more lenient."

The shuffling of papers on and in his desk continued, his eyes every once in a while going back to the black and white image. Motioning to the still-silent Killian, he inquired, "Is he the father?"

Now it was Emma's turn for incredulity and confusion. "No, you moron, you are."

And, much like she did in the elevator, he froze. Sluggishly, Neal faced and stalked up to her, menacingly towering in a way he did when she 'falsely' accused him of something. _Didn't notice the height difference before_. "Excuse me?"

She shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around his stupidity. "Jesus, Neal," she stated, her hand coming to her face to pinch the bridge of her nose. "This isn't rocket science. You're the father." She reached past him and grabbed the picture off his desk. "This gray blob is half me and half you."

Emma calmly folded the already flimsy paper and put it back into her pocket. "Now, don't feel like you have to be a part of this process," she assured him. "I can do this perfectly fine on my own, but I thought it was the right thing for you to-"

"No." he interrupted her, his head shaking furiously. "No, that's not mine."

"Of course it's yours," she cried, dumbfounded. "Who else's would it be?"

Neal jerked his chin to Killian. "His."

Emma chanced a glimpse back to him. Her eyes screwed closed as she turned back to Neal, a headache niggling at the front of her cranium. "What? No, Neal, it's yours. I know that for a fact."

"It's not possible. We used a condom every time, I made sure."

"Not the last time!" she yelled. "Remember?" She lowered her voice to imitate his. "'Oh, sorry babe, I ran out. But it's okay. I'll pull out.'" Angrily, Emma gestured to her stomach. "Well, look where your skills got us now!"

"Don't pin this on me!" he defended himself, throwing an arm out toward her. "You've done your fair share of sleeping around!"

She was absolutely fucking angry, the flames she felt licking her cheekbones. "Oh hell no," she raged. "Don't you dare say that. Don't pretend that you weren't sleeping with half the girls in this building while you were fooling around with me!"

Without warning, Emma launched herself at Neal, the need to strangle him overwhelming. Strong arms restrained her, carefully draped between her chest and stomach. Killian held her back, legs kicking out at Neal, dire to land a hit. She screamed, "You're the asshole here! YOU'RE the asshole! I was a virgin when I met you. You're the only guy I've ever slept with, you fucktard!"

"Swan, you've got to calm down," Killian muttered near her. She barely heard it, the blood rushing through her body far more cacophonous.

"Yeah!" Neal shouted. "Listen to your boyfriend, Emma."

"My boyfriend? Hook?" She wrestled herself from Killian's grip and, finally, _finally,_ grabbed purchase and tackled Neal.

"Bet you were fucking him when you weren't crawling over me."

On the brink of a breakdown and refusing to channel her anger into tears she felt threatening, Emma slapped his face then started punching his chest as she straddled him, knees crushing his sides. Neal laughed somewhat maniacally, chanting something along the lines of "Yeah, babe, just like that" like they were fucking. As if she would ever make that mistake again.

Killian hauled her, kicking and screaming "I TRUSTED YOU!" off the R.A. He managed to get them to the closed door with minimal physical damage to either of them, though no one could say the same of Neal's belongings. As he coaxed it open, Neal righted himself. His one cheek was a brilliant red and he was coughing, trying to regulate his breathing after the pounding his chest had gone through.

"I can't wait to report you to the housing committee," is all he said as Killian dragged a hysterical Emma out of Neal's room and down to his.

When they were safely ensconced in the comfort of his room, Emma all but collapsed on the couch.

"Well," Killian said quietly, shutting the door and locking the deadbolt. "That could've gone better." She glared at him. "It could have," he reiterated innocently.

"Oh, come on," she croaked out. "That was the worst thing ever. I expected him wanting to forget it." Emma looked to him, the anger beginning to ebb and gloom taking its place. "But falsely accusing me when he full well knows that he was my first and only." She shook her head and curled up into the couch cushion.

Advancing toward her slowly, he said, "You don't need him. You never needed him. You are resilient and determined and too incredibly beautiful to be dependent on a wanker the likes of him."

Emma scoffed. "That's a line if I've ever heard one." Wiping her puffy eyes and standing from the couch, she mumbled, "Look, I can deal with this by myself."

She was walking to the door when she heard him mutter, "But you shouldn't have to."

Scrunching up her nose in frustration, Emma whirled on him. "Thanks for offering, but its charm like yours and words like those that got me into this mess." She took a deep breath, faced the door again and opened it. "…I'll just figure my own way out."

She was halfway down the hall when his footfalls caught up to her. Cupping her chin with one of those calloused boxer hands, he spoke.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to leave you. When are you going to get it into that stubborn head of yours that I'm in this for the long haul, so long as you are?"

Nervously, she wet her lips and then bit her bottom one. No response was given, but she allowed him to lead her to her room, hand in hand. Once she unlocked her door, Killian set her bag on her desk as she settled on her bed, holding her pillow tightly to her chest and curling up once more.

"You know this isn't your fault, right?" he comforted her. "It seemed like you thought it was when you spoke with your father, but back there…" he trailed off in hopes that she would catch his drift.

"I mean, it kind of is. I was drunk that night and went looking for him and-"

"No," Killian pronounced sternly and strongly. He kneeled in front of her. "Swan," he shook his head and corrected himself. "Emma, it's not your fault. Especially if you were intoxicated. He should've known better, _does_ know better. And he's not worth having around if he's put you in such a precarious position without offering his assistance."

Emma sniffed and let one tear escape its prison before uttering, "Why are you even helping me in the first place? You didn't even know me until you heard the water running in the shower."

"My reasons are my own," he vaguely answered.

Her brows wrinkled. "How do you expect me to fully trust you like you want me to if you won't tell me?"

Killian let free a resigned sigh. "I've told you have the reason already. You just didn't believe me. I sincerely had been keeping an eye on you." His tongue licked his bottom lip before he confessed, "You've been on my radar since I first laid my sights on you at orientation."

"Orientation?"

He sighed again and took her hand from the pillow's grip. "You sat three rows ahead of me during our welcome lecture and you were just so…entrancing."

"I was asleep for the majority of that lecture," she told him straight.

"I know," he chuckled. "You were the only one. And no one seemed to notice it, save me. Everybody else just mulled about their business, completely ignoring the girl who'd obviously traveled long and far without much rest."

The corners of her mouth tipped up at one side, giving him a lopsided piece of hope. "Yeah. I didn't go to bed the night before so I could leave early enough to get to orientation on time," She reminisced a bit longer. "Seven thirty was way too early."

"You need not tell me, love." Hesitantly, Killian brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, over her shoulder. "Even when I didn't know your name, you were an open book."

"You realize that's stalkerish, right?" she asked him, easing herself up. "Especially when the first time you decided to talk to me was in the girls' bathroom?"

He shrugged casually. "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets." When she was upright, he touched his finger to the tip of her nose. _A nose boop?_ "Which is why it's better for the both of you if Neal stays out of the picture."

Emma grinned, rubbing away the remains of her earlier outburst with her sleeve. "Thanks, Killian."

"Anything for you, Swan," he said. He joined her on the bed, hand outstretched. "Now, let's get a closer look at the babe."


	13. Chapter 13

Tuesday again. Which meant that, even though she had a five page bibliography due tomorrow at 8 a.m., she was with Ruby in the nosebleeds, watching Victor cream some poor newbie kid.

"Why hasn't their coach stopped him?" Emma asked, concern evident in her voice. Her fingers flew up to her mouth as Victor landed another quality punch to the other boy's side. "They're going to have up the ratings of practice from PG to PG-13."

Ruby glanced over at her long enough to shrug her shoulders. "It's not too bad," she said. "You're seeing things."

Emma mirrored her friend and shrugged her shoulders back. _Whatever_. She went back to looking at her phone as inconspicously as she could, anxiously waiting for a response from Killian, who was slyly texting her from the sidelines. They were talking about something inane, as per usual. This particualr conversation happened to be about the difference between futbol and soccer _because apparently there was a difference in the atmosphere or something_. Not that Emma was particularly caught up in either side of the debate, but he _couldn't_ just declare that a sport was different on one side of the ocean than the other. _Same rules, same ideas, same sport._

The bleacher creaked as Ruby leaned over and snuck a peek over her shoulder, only catching the named blared and bolded at the top of the tsked. "Shouldve guessed." Focusing her attention on the ring below them, she attempted to ask as nonchalantly as possible, "What's up with you two anyways?"

"What do you mean?"

"Um, hello? You call him his name instead of his nickname. You spend practically every minute outside of class and practice together. The only other people you text are me and your parents, and he's got the three of us beat out by far." WIth a sneaking suspicion and her token nosy Ruby smile on her face, she dramatically whispered, "Are you two a thing now?"

Trying to hide her blush, Emma hastily said, "No, no, most certainly not a thing."

The brunette tilted her head to the side, her eyes and expression emitting a 'C'mon Emma, really' vibe. "C'mon, Em." Her hand came to rest on Emma's knee. "It's me. You can tell me anything."

_You can tell me anything._

_How would Ruby react if she knew I was pregnant? With the R.A.'s kid? And he wants nothing to do with me, denies that we ever happened._ How would she react if she knew the only reason Emma talked to Killian so much was because he was the only one who knew and, for some reason or another, kind of sympathized with her?

She shook her head, locking her phone and hiding it in between her knees. "There's nothing going on between me and Killian." At Ruby's unconvinced eyebrow raise, Emma insisted, "Really."

Ruby narrowed her eyes. "If you're lying to me, I'll find out."

 _Gulp._ "Will you be mad at me?" Emma asked, hoping that her friend didn't hear the waver in her voice that she did. _Please say no._

Stroking her imaginary chin beard in jest, Ruby looked back to the ring, the younger boxer curled up in a loose fetal position with a triumphant Victor above him. "Cannot predict now. Ask again after you've confessed."

Relief flooded Emma's veins as they laughed. _Crisis tempoararily avioded._

The coach clapped his hands, signaling the end of practice. Unlike old times where they raced to escape the prying eyes of the boxers and their embarrasment if the boys saw, Ruby and Emma now raced to the bottom of the bleachers into plain and obvious view. Emma purposefully lost every time so she wouldn't fall down the stairs and hurt either of them (them being her and the baby). Really, a miscarriage and or a broken limb was the last thing she needed to deal with. Ruby bounded into Victor's arms, an army wife seeing her just-returned husband, and a heavy make-out session ensued, the couple battling for dominance with their tongues.

"Bloody hell, it's not even been a week," Killian complained as he came up next to Emma.

"It's actually been close to three," Emma smarmily corrected him. He gave her a 'bitch please' look, his eyebrow cocking up. "Or maybe four," she added after a thought, her nose crinkling up as she mentally counted.

"You lie, Swan," he said, wrapping an arm over her shoulder in a friendly manner and shaking her a bit. "Are you telling me I've been forced to deal with an entire month of those displays of public admiration?"

"At least you get a break from it after practice." Emma threw one arm out to them as the other adjusted her bag. "I live with half of that pair."

The two watched Ruby and Victor, their faces showing more and more disgust, until Emma finally groaned. "Get your pack," she commaned. "Even though I shouldn't be after that display, I'm hungry."

Killian removed his arm from her shoudlers and bowed lowly to her. "As you wish, milady."

Emma scoffed and gave a tired smile, completely fed up with his shit. "I'm not your lady."

When he came up and went for his bag, he couldn't hide his smirk. "Not yet," he confidentally said. Grabbing his bag, Killian yelled to Victor and Ruby, still connected at the lips and hips and pretty much everywhere in between. "Lovebirds, Swan and I are going to the cantine. Would you care to join us or are you too busy sucking face?"

Victor swayed a bit with Ruby in his arms before, not breaking contact with his girlfriend in the slightest, raising his middle finger in their direction.

"Alright, message received, mate," Killian said, waving them off like a granfather who'd chalk their actions up to being those crazy kids. "If you find yourself famished when you come up for air, you know where to find us." His hand found the small of Emma's back and ushered her toward the door. "Come, Swan," he muttered in her ear. "Can't have either of you wasting away."

She elbowed him as they walked out of the gymnasium, her arm getting fumbled up in his open jacket and nearly missing her mark.

"Now, now, lass," he chided, a chuckle in his voice and a hand opening the exit for her"I know you want to keep it under wraps, but you've got to start getting used to the idea."

Hugging her jacket closer to preserve her warmth in the cool spring night air, Emma said, "I'm, like, 86% used to the idea."

"More than halfway," he said, impressed.

"Yeah." She went quiet as they walked companionably next to each other. It was nice, the night's weather: a slight breeze rustling the newborn leaves and a hint of summer hidden underneath. And having Killian next to her, just unassuming and completely content in being with her...that made her feel safe. He had changed in her eyes since seeing him in stark comparison to Neal. Neal was an abuser, she now realized: abused her, their relationship, everything about them. He had a façade that everyone, even her mother, couldn't seem to see past, including her.

But Killian…Killian had helped her see the light. Kind of. It's not like he actually unearthed or brought to her attention that Neal was, for all intents and purposes, a douchebag. But he had been there, physically held her back and kept her from furhter harming herself during her rash actions (not to mention allowed her some compensation). He hadn't forced himself on her, physically or socially, but had come at her call and offered his services and friendship in return for nothing but some bad jokes and sacarstic remarks. She had brought him into her mess of a life and he willingly stayed, something that no one she could recall had ever done.

It was refreshing, just like every other aspect of his personality had been. So much more beneath his book cover than she could've ever judged.

They reached the cantine, comfortable silence between the pair still. Emma grabbed a banana and, after a pointed look from Killian as he stood in the burger line, begrudingly made herself a salad. It may have been a trick of the fluroscent light, but Emma could've sworn she saw him wink.

When she was done, she patiently waited for him to get his burger and fries. They paid for their food together _, "_ If you offer to pay for me, you'll be meeting hte new guy at the health center," and found a small table in some random, poorly lit corner of the dining room.

After the scratch of chairs on the floor, they ate silently for a little bit, their munching and scraping of silverware the only soundtrack. That is, until Emma caught him staring at her.

"What?" she said with a bite of salad in her mouth.

He shook his head. "It's nothing." He swiped a fry through some ketchup, successfully distracting her and leaving only an inkling of what Emma thought behind. "What are your plans for holiday?"

"Spring break?"

Killian shook his head again, laughing at the Americanness of the phrase. "Yes, 'spring break.'"

Emma shrugged. "I should go home, discuss battle tactics with my parents." She looked up and met his blue eyes. "What about you?"

"I wish I could go home, but I've been chosen to box in a tournament until Wednesday, so I'm going to do that and then come back here."

"Your holiday isn't even a holiday for you?"

He smiled at her choice of words. "No rest for the wicked." He picked up another fry before offering the rest to Emma. Despite her insistance that she was nauseous, she accepted and scarfed them down anyways. Grin still on his face, Killian said, "I was wondering if you might want to join me when I get back for the tournament. Just for a day or two."

Emma gulped down her food. "It's a long way to drive for a day trip."

His hand reached behind his ear and scratched at the spot of skin he always did with embarrassment. "Then stay the night?" he meekly suggested.

She fervently shook her head, disagreeing with him and simulatenously trying ot rid herself of the weird, nonfood related grumbling percolating within her. "Killian, I could never impose on you…" she said.

"It wouldn't be imposing since I invited you." He sighed and looked at her straight in the eyes. "Look, Robbie's not going to be back until the last minute and I've grown accustom to seeing you nearly every day. You'd be doing me a favor."

Unconscious of the smile spreading across her cheeks, she tilted her head, observing the guy across the table from her. "Why, Jones," she said, her voice talking on a mocking, southern-esque tone, "if I didn't know any better, I would say that you've grown fond of me."

He mirrored her just as unconsciously as she smiled, his eyes glimmering with glee. "Swan, you know better than anybody my stance on that matter."

"So you are just trying to get into my pants?"

With a heaving sigh, Killian threw his arms out wide, careless for any one who might be watching their interaction. "On my grave, no funny business," he assured her. "Just another night, you and me." After a pause, he brought his hands back to the table, Marlon Brando drawing up a deal in the Godfather. "We can even research if that makes you feel better."

She scoffed, "I don't know about you, but I've done enough research for a long time." Pushing away the empty container, Emma sighed. "I'll ask my parents, see if they can drive me up earlier."

That genuine smirk of his made another appearance. "Thanks, love," he muttered and returned to vorasciously eating his burger.

 _What a pig_ , she thought, _with ketchup getting caught in his five-o-clock shadow._

_At least he tried to make casual conversation before grossing you out._

_At least he tried period._

Emma briefly considered telling him of her inner struggle. What Mulan had said lined up with the research she'd done very hesitantly after that appointment. But an abortion? _I'm 17. I couldn't even decide on a prom dress, let alone something like this._ Besides, she was comfortable around him, and he already knew her deepest, darkest secret: asking his opinion on a( _nother_ ) life-changing decision would only make sense. Wouldn't it?

Or maybe pregnancy was starting to addle her brain.

But the moment passed, Killian's clean plate a clear indicator of an end to the meal. Emma peeled her banana and took a tentative bite from the top.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, lifting himself from his chair to a chorus of cracking knees. His mouth dropped open at the sound and elicited a giggle from her.

"Yeah," she replied reluctantly, standing and trailing behind as he goes to get rid of their trays. Once done, he met her and they walked out into the night back to their building. "This bibliography isn't going to write itself."

"What class is it for?" he asked, accidentally knocking into her shoulder with his. "Sorry."

"You're fine," she said offhandedly. Her hand ran through her hair, pushing it away from her face as she thought of the simplest way to explain it. "The class is my history class, but the project's a little more complicated than write a report on the Declaration of Independence."

Killian shrugged. "I know nothing of American history, so everything's a little more complicated than that."

Her jaw dropped and she stopped walking, Killian not noticing right away and continuing on their path. His eyebrow rose in curiosity.

"You're telling me," Emma said in a stilted voice, "that you go to school here and know nothing about it's history?"

He shrugged again. "Aren't you Yankees opposed to our tea or something?"

Flabbergasted, she let her mouth hang open in disbelief. "You inane European bastard," she stated. The force of her insult was tamed when the wind kicked up, flying through down her opened gob and sending a chill over her body.

He noticed her shiver, of course, and, to her surprise ( _although I should have expected it_ ), Killian handed her his practice bag long enough to relieve himself of his jacket and gently drape it over her shoulders. She gave him a questioning look when he took back his bag and he merely smiled.

"I am a gentleman, no matter my ignorance of your country."

"It's yours as much as mine."

"It's mine by marriage," he corrected her. "It's yours by blood."

"Well, like it or not, you're getting a transfusion." At his utter befuddlement, Emma poked his chest ( _damn, that is_ all _muscle)_. "You, Mr. Jones, are going to learn the history of this great nation if it's the last thing I do."

They reached the front door, Killian opening and holding it for her. She bowed her head in appreciation, so she jumped a bit when his voice sounded right next to her ear.

"As long as I'm with you, Ms. Swan, you can teach me whatever you deem fit."

Emma's skepticism was evident the entire ride up to their floor. Killian smirked, giving her no footing or additional ammo to slap him with in their later meetings. She walked to her room alone, finding it locked, dark, and empty.

_Looks like she's having a sleepover tonight._

Flipping the lights on, she left her bag on the floor and fell onto her bed. The warmth and fluffiness it offered was pleasant, but something was off. Emma sniffed at the air, and then twisted her head to smell her pillow. The scent of that normally swathed her clothes was muffled by something more. It was musky, almost like the cover of an old book, and it, for some reason, melted away the day's stresses.

It kind of smelled like Killian.

That's when she realized that his jacket, his beloved leather jacket he wore even though it was beginning to get to hot for it, was underneath her, still grasping at her shoulders in a valid attempt to keep the cold at bay.

She gritted her teeth together and awkwardly smiled to herself. _Oops._

Groaning, Emma wretched herself from the comfort of the mattress and took off her shoes before moseying down the hall to return the coat. She bit her lip and slid down the linoleum in her socks, trying to abate her laughter.

Arriving at Killian's door, she raised her fist to knock ( _I have some class, I wasn't raised in a barn_ ) even though its always unlocked and he always insists that she just make herself at home and come on in, but stopped herself when she heard his hushed tones. He would pause every so often, giving her the impression that he was on the phone. _But with who?_

"No, I don't want to talk with her," he muttered, his accent abnormally strong. "I don't care what her excuses are, Liam…No, you said…I know what I said, you bugger, but I'm telling you…" Emma imagined him pacing what little clean floorspace in his room while he talked to this Liam guy.

_Liam. Why does that name sound so familiar?_

"Look, it'd be poisonous for everyone involved. We're better off keeping it as it is." Killian huffed. This lag in conversation was the longest yet. Finally he sighed. "Fine. Do whatever you want on your end, but nothing's going to change mine…Yeah, I know. Bye."

Nervously, she wet her lips. _Maybe this isn't the best time._

_But it's his jacket. It's like his safety blanket or something._

With appropriate hesitation, Emma knocked on his door. "Killian?"

She pushed open the door to see him right next to the couch, phone still lit up and hands gripping his hair. He straightened up, a smirk appearing and the sweat of seduction seeping every pore of his body. _He's different_ , she thought, _a mélange of my kind Killian and Ruby's lothario Hook_. Whatever the conversation was about had brought that out in him, and Emma couldn't say that she was a total fan of that. _This isn't him._

"Couldn't stay away, is that it, Swan?" he drawled, one hand mussing up his hair and the other coming to rest on his hip.

After a moment to wrap her head around this weird hybrid of him, Emma rolled her eyes. "Sure," she sarcastically said. She held up the reason for her visit. "I forgot about your coat. Thanks."

Killian approached her and lightly removed his jacket from where it hung on his curled finger. There was a softness in his eyes she recognized, slowly growing as his hybrid demeanor faded. "Somebody's gotta watch out for you," he told her quietly.

"And someone's gotta do the same for you." It came out before she registered what she'd said. Sure, she was confused about what she heard and concerned for him. He was her...well, her friend and confidante. But _he_ didn't need to know that. His ego was big enough as it was. "Are you okay?" she asked trying to recover.

And in a snap, that softness was gone. Killian went stoic, hardening in demeanor and becoming someone completely different than Killian or Hook. _This must be what he;s like when he's angry._ "Fine," he spat. He ushered her out the door and said, "Goodnight" before the door shut in her face. For the first time, she heard the deadbolt slam home.

"Goodnight," she quietly said to the grain of the door.

_Well, that was weird._


	14. Chapter 14

"C'mon, Mom," Emma pleaded, leaning up against the kitchen counter, "It's not like anything bad can happen."

"That's because the only thing worse involves your death," she retorted. Mary Margaret's scolding finger wagged at her, mid-putting away clean dishes while dinner finished in the oven. "You're spending your spring break here, just as we always planned."

"Pleaseeee," Emma whined. "Mom, Killian's all alone in the dorms."

From over her shoulder, Mary Margaret glared at her daughter. "I thought you said he was at a tournament."

"For the beginning of break, yeah." Mary Margaret scoffed and continued placing bowls in the cupboard. Emma scrubbed her forehead in frustration. "But everyone else lives in the country, so they're going home. Please?"

The fringes of her mother's pixie cut trembled as she shook her head, not even chancing a glance behind her, just focusing on the dish rack that was quickly emptying. "This discussion is finished until your father gets home."

Emma groaned and couldn't help but think _Why me_?

Things had been tense in the Nolan household since Emma arrived home for break. Her mother was still a little off from the ending of Emma's last visit. Neither had yet to say anything on the topic. In fact, they hadn't really talked much alone, save for the occasional discussion while Emma spent her time on the bathroom floor and Mary Margaret combed through her hair and the daily reminder for Emma to eat well. They might not have been on the best terms, but if Mary Margaret was born to do anything, it was be a mother, through thick and thin. And, though she wouldn't say it aloud, Emma wanted to be mothered. After all, she might be one, if not now, then someday perhaps. It's not like there were mothering classes online: every mother learned from their mother in a generational lineage of experience.

A riff like this was harmful not just to the mother-daughter relationship in the loft, but David as well. He'd spent more time at the station lately under the pretense of more cases when in actuality he just wanted to stay away from the estrogen in excess at his house. He barely survived his wife's mood swings when she was pregnant close to two decades ago. But now with his already-sassy daughter in the same condition and in a fight with her bottled emotions mother… it was safe to say that David loved his girls, but they could tone down their feelings a little.

Like a child mid-tantrum, Emma mumbled heated words at her mother as she stomped up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut. Her back against the door, she clonked the crown of her head against the wood. _Just a couple more days._

Almost as if it could tell her sour mood, her phone dinged. She squinted at the lit screen from its place next on her bedside table. Groaning again, _who would possibly be trying to talk to me_ , Emma picked it up.

A text from Killian, of course, who was on the bus from the tournament back to campus with his other selected teammates.

_Hey beautiful. How's holiday?_

Despite her spat with her mom, she couldn't help but smile. He'd asked her that every day since she bid him goodbye in front of the gym. While she slept till noon and stayed up until all hours watching TV and reading, he'd been forced to live like he worked a 9-to-5 job with practices and matches and general boxing camaraderie. But every day, without fail, she'd received that exact same text.

 _Slowly descending into madness,_ she responded, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. Despite having just been seated at the kitchen counter, the short ascent up the stairs winded her and made her sore in the oddest of places.

A few minutes later, Emma was treated to another text. _Why would you say that, love?_

She sighed. _Mom doesn't want me to come back._

_Whyever not?_

Scrunching her face, she released a frustrated noise and removed her phone from its charging wire. _She doesn't want me in the dorm without Neal as backup,_ she texted back, scooting so her head rested on her pillow.

Radio silence ensued from his end for the next few minutes. She waited patiently, taking deep breaths through the nose to calm herself down, then sent another _Hello?_ text to make sure he was still there and the bus hadn't got into an accident. _Because that would be my luck and his._

Killian answered, much to her relief.

_I must be mistaken. Neal as backup?_

She rolled her eyes. _Now you see my dilemma._

_Swan, have you told your parents he's the father of their grandchild?_

_…yes?_

_Swan…_

_I don't know how to tell them._

_Emma._

_Don't Emma me._ Even states away, Emma could tell he had a disapproving look on his face. Eh was probably rubbing his hand acorss his face in a feeble attempt to keep from punching whomever he was sitting next to in her stead. She sighed again and scratched her nose, thinking of the proper way to express her concerns. _Look, the moment I tell them, they're going to expect something from him._

_So?_

_You know how much I want that._

She imagined his shoulder shrug when he sent back _Truth enough._

Just as she finished reading Killian's admittance, Emma heard the slam of the front door. _Dad_.

She hopped from her bed and jogged down the stairs. David was hanging his coat and his badge up on the rack right inside the door. He barely had time to pull his arm from the sleeve when Emma caught him around his waist and nestled into his chest, her ear resting over his rapidly beating heart.

"Oof," he grunted, startled by her force. Cautiously, he returned his daughter's embrace. "Hi there, princess."

With a charming smile just like her dad's, Emma looked up and said, "Hi Daddy."

Suspiciously gently, David patted her on the back and pushed her to arm's length. "What's up?"

Emma shrugged with as much innocent as she could muster. "Nothing much."

David shook his head. He let go of her completely, and replaced his grasp with a pointed finger and the other hand on his hip in scolding. "No, something's up. The last time you greeted me like that and called me 'Daddy,' your forehead hit my stomach." Emma felt a slight blush of embarrassment crawl up her cheeks and she shyly tried to hide her tactic from her father's prying eyes. "So I'll ask again: what's up?"

Huffing through her nose, she internally chided herself. She was her daddy's little girl; she couldn't conceal anything from him, at least not for long, even if she tried. So she relented and sighed, arms coming to cross over her chest. "Mom won't let me go back to school early."

"Why would you want to go back to school early?" David asked, his head cocking toward his shoulder. With a hand on her shoulder, he began ushering her toward the living room to sit. "Weren't you begging to come home not too long ago?"

"Well, I want to go back now," she supplied matter-of-factly.

"Sick of your folks already?" her father jested, dragging her into his side and ruffling her hair.

"She wants to go visit a boy," Mary Margaret yelled from the kitchen. When David and Emma looked up, she came into their view and placed lasagna fresh from the oven on the table and motioned her family over to eat. "I'm inclined to keep her here because of the mouth she gave me earlier," she added, sharing a glance with her husband.

David gave Emma a chastising look while she took her seat and sheepishly doodled on her empty plate. Mary Margaret spoke again, serving herself some food.

"I don't think she should go back if her R.A. isn't there," she said. "That's the entire reason you came home, so they can have a break."

 _Say it_ , Emma's conscience begged her. _Just tell them now, you're on the topic._ She shook her head in a short movement, not wanting to alert her parents to the internal debate she'd been fighting. _Just blurt it out. 'I don't give a fuck about my R.A. because mine knocked me up.'_

Whether it was from the debacle she fought or the topic in general, Emma paled a little bit. Always one to keep an eye out for her, David took notice. "Who's the guy?" he asked.

Setting her fork down, Emma responded, "Killian, Dad. He had a tournament and he's coming back to campus early because he can't fly across the ocean and be back in time for classes to start." She sat up straight in her chair and leaned into the table for emphasis, focusing only on David. "Dad, you know I wouldn't say this normally, but I really wanna go. You can trust him. _I_ trust him."

Grey-blue eyes ricocheted from Mary Margaret to Emma and back again. Emma was a little uncomfortable at her acceptance and realization. _I do trust him. Huh._

David looked at his wife, crinkling his forehead in confusion. "I don't see why she can't go."

Relief and happiness washed over Emma. A breath she didn't know she was holding released itself.

"What?" Mary Margaret asked dubiously.

"Honey, I know you don't know this kid and you think that he..." David stumbled as he tried to think of a nice way to say 'fucked with our lives,' but settled for just pointing in the general direction of Emma's stomach. She rolled her eyes and sighed, relaxing back into her chair and contented herself with being grumpy. "Did this, but I'm going to vouch for him. He didn't seem like all that bad a guy when I met him. Besides," he paused, trying to disguise a grin, "Emma trusts him."

Mary Margaret deliberated, glaring at her husband at his refusal to agree with her. Emma bit the inside of her cheek, hoping that her father's reasoning was just sound enough to persuade her mother.

Sighing with stoicism, Mary Margaret's shoulders deflated an inch. "Fine. Just this once." While Emma silently celebrated, she added, "But I'm taking you and I want to meet this Killian."

A little too giddily, Emma nodded. "That's totally fine." She got up from the table, leaving her dinner mostly untouched, and hugged her still-seated parents. "Thank you so much." Making a brief pit stop to drop her plate in the sink, she booked it upstairs to tell Killian the news. _Yes, he's going to be so excited._

Her father's voice stopped her.

"Why didn't you just invite him over here?"

Emma turned around, one foot on the bottom step and her eyes squinted in confusion. "You punched him in the face."

"So?" David shrugged.

"So, how do you think that conversation went in my head? 'Hey Dad, can the guy you thought knocked me up but actually didn't but you punched him in the face for my honor and to prove your authority come over?'" She tilted her head and raised one corner of her mouth to make a face that reminded David that she might have been born at night, but not that night.

He smiled and waved her away. "Just keep it in mind for future reference."

Shaking her head in disbelief and perplexity, Emma continued up the stairs. At the top of the steps, she overheard her mother whisper "Did you really punch this kid in the face?" and her father respond "What? He waltzed into my pregnant daughter's room. What else was I supposed to do?"

She couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. Her parents, while sometimes pieces of work, were hers and never would she change that.

Her smile widened immensely when she reached for her phone and texted Killian her affirmative answer.

_Better make your bed. I don't plan on sleeping on the floor._

_Even if you weren't in your delicate condition, I wouldn't dare dream of it._

"He's so full of himself," Emma scoffed to herself. Then she tapped out another text. _Also, you're going to have to meet my mother._

_Is she going to punch me in the face too?_

She laughed out loud. _Only if you're on your best behavior._

_Around you? Always am._


	15. Chapter 15

He was sitting on a bench outside, playing with his phone, when Emma and her mother walked to the front of the dorm. Emma tried with all her might, and the bags she held weighed her down a bit, not to run at him.

She'd missed him, despite anything she'd say.

It was a weird and giddying feeling, one she hadn't felt sober in a while.

When he caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his crystal-blue eyes, he immediately stood and started walking toward the women. He hadn't even say hello yet before taking the heaviest things from Emma's grasp. Still trying to contain herself, Emma restricted herself to giving him an awkward side-hug, her arm stretching over his shoulder and his awkwardly curling around her ribs.

Killian opened his mouth and inhaled to greet her, but someone beat him to the punch.

"Hello," Mary Margaret curtly interrupted their reunion. Her arm had a bag on it, but she still stuck out her hand for a formal handshake. "You must be Killian."

"Yes ma'am," he politely replied. Their hands bounced up and down once, and then Mary Margaret whisked her hand away the bag away as it begun to slip from her arm. "Killian Jones."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, the pleasure is most definitely mine, Mrs. Nolan.," he practically purred. Eyebrows hitting her hairline, Emma slapped him, albeit not forcibly due to the inhibition of her objects. He turned to her, confused as a puppy being scolded, his eyes begging the question "What?"

Emma just rolled her eyes. _Your façade is glass,_ she thought.

"Am I not allowed to compliment your mother?" he politely asked, his tilted lips telling her her message had very well being received but completely ignored. "I've told you how beautiful and brave you are. I can only assume you inherited it from her."

Mary Margaret squinted, skeptical of his flattery. Emma leaned into him and whispered in his ear "Don't you think you're laying it on a bit thick?"

A smile still on his face, he whispered back, "I'm only half exaggerating. Your mother is certainly a looker."

Emma slapped him again, hoping to cause more pain than her earlier attempt did. "Knock it off or I'll go right back home," she threatened.

"I think that might be for the better, honey," Mary Margaret agreed, gently placing a hand on her daughter's arm and helping her gravitate back to the car.

"No, please don't go," he pleaded, much more genuinely than anything he had said so far. He faced her mother, his hands clasped in front of him, the picture of an apologetic boy. "I apologize if I was out of line."

Mary Margaret was obviously still unconvinced. "Apology accepted," she allowed him. "Tentatively." Her hand still on Emma's arm, she asked Killian, "Would you mind if I speak with my daughter for a moment? Privately?"

Nodding, Killian made some incoherent noises, saying something about the lobby. He caught Emma's nervous glance, _please don't leave me_ the beg in her eyes, winked, and took what he held of hers into their dorm building. Emma watched him leave, then slowly turned her attention to her mother.

"I don't want you staying here with him."

"Mom, I am, it was an empty threat," she complained. Some of her hair fell in her face and she frustratingly pushed it back. "Look, I know you don't think I'm safe here-"

"I would just feel better if Neal-"

"I know, Mom, but he's not," Emma sighed exasperatedly. She could have predicted her mother being stubborn about her decision. After all, she had to have inherited her stubbornness from somewhere. But this was a little much even for her. "I trust Killian. I trust him enough to keep my secret. I trust him enough to confide in him," she rattled off, each new qualification of Killian's attaining another one of her raised fingers. "I trust him and you're just going to have accept that."

Mary Margaret huffed. "Fine," she relented unhappily, "but any signs of trouble and I'm coming straight back. You understand, young lady?"

"Yes, Mom."

The corners of Mary Margaret's eyes scrunched up a smidgen, searching her daughter's gaze for understanding. When she found it or something close enough, she grasped the sides of her face, bent Emma's head forward, and kissed her on the forehead. "Have some fun," she whispered.

"I will," Emma promised. "Call me when you get home."

"Will do." With a final smile and wave, Mary Margaret left, heading back down the hill to the parking lot.

Emma watched her back shrink and disappear into the station wagon. She watched the car pull out of its spot and followed it with her eyes and, for a small distance, her feet. Her hand came up for a single wave, one she knew her mother couldn't see, but it comforted her anyway.

When the license plate was unreadable, Emma unstuck herself from the sidewalk and went up to the building door. She knocked, her other hand buried in the depths of her jacket pocket to keep her from shivering in the stiff breeze, until Killian fetched her.

"That could've been worse," was the first thing out of his mouth when he pushed open the door.

"It could've gone better, too," Emma replied, passing him and hitting the button for the elevator. The light lit, Emma spun around on her heel. "I told you to be on your best behavior," she said.

Killian's jaw dropped minutely in faux devastation. "I thought I was."

"I don't think you understand," Emma tried to explain. She stalked up to him, hand splayed to the side. "My mother told me again that she'd feel safer if Neal was here."

All mirth and joking left his expression. "So you decided not to tell them."

"They don't need to know!" she cried.

"If they insist on Neal being a hero, I think they ought to," he reasoned.

"It's just my mom," she said as the lift dinged and the doors opened. "My dad was actually okay with me coming to see you. He actually asked why I didn't invite you home."

The grin Killian wore was infectious and toothy, a new happenstance Emma enjoyed. "I knew I was winning him over," he gloated.

She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "We'll see."

They arrived on their floor, Emma trying to keep Killian's ego from forcing his head off his shoulders. _Give them and inch and they'll go a mile._ She made him hand over the things of hers he still carried so he could unlock his room while she throw her stuff in her room. He hesitantly agreed and she made sure he entered his room before she even left the entrance to the elevator. Dragging her belongings down the hall, Emma struggled a little in finding the right key to unlock her door, but she eventually found it, threw everything on her bed, and grabbed some necessities before locking it up again, taking her keys and fuzzy socks to Killian's room in much more comfortable clothing.

Killian's barely unpacked, as evidenced by the piles and piles of dirty clothes and bags she saw when she pushed in the door. However, the couch had managed to remain relatively untouched, only a few crumpled papers and books toward one end. Killian took his laptop, propped it up on those aforementioned books, and settled into the other end of the couch, back against the arm and one leg dangling off the edge.

Emma cocked her eyebrow, imitating him to the best of her ability. "Yes, that is a lovely couch."

And, in his best imitation of her, he responded with eyes to the heavens. "No, love. It's an invitation to sit."

"And we can't just sit normally?"

"Would sitting in this position make you uncomfortable?"

"If I said yes," she hesitated, knocking her knee against his, "would you move?"

He tilted his head ever so slightly. "Of course," he confirmed. "But I can tell you, it's much more comfortable this way."

Emma tried to restrict the grin. She thought she was doing well, only barely feeling the muscles of her cheek wrinkling up to the bone. Shaking her head, nonverbally saying _you're impossible_ , she seated herself between his legs, maintaining as much distance between their bodies as she could while still being comfortable.

They sat like that amongst the mess of his unpacking, streaming episode after episode of Young Justice on his laptop. When they got hungry, they ordered Chinese (her treat). When they needed to stretch their legs, they walked to the ice cream shop just off-campus (his treat).

"Really?" he inquired in disbelief between sips of his chocolate milkshake. "Mint chocolate chip and sprinkles?"

"What?"

"You're supposed to lick the ice cream from the cone, not crunch your way through it." He tapped the corner of his wallet to her nose on its journey back to his pocket. "That is a surefire way to get brain freeze."

She craned her head back for a second, merely taking in his words and licking her dessert. When his meaning clicked, her mouth opened in a small O of comprehension. "Well," she said, "I'm sure the sweet sugar will make the ice cream eye worth it."

"Ice cream eye?" he asked. "What the hell is that?"

Emma just laughed as she exited the store.

On the way back, the skies opened up with little to no warning. They ran for the closest overhang and stood there for a few minutes, taking in the late spring shower. When Mother Nature gave no sign of letting up any time soon, together they decided to brave the elements and they got soaked to the bone with their efforts. Killian valiantly tried to shield her from the drops, but she was having too much fun, hands sticky from the ice cream and splashing in puddles and facing the heavens with a smirk and a scream. He stood back, arms and jacket still wide from his attempts, and watched her in her child-like glory. She felt like she should care, he was judging her hardcore, she knew, because she was in college, she was pregnant, she was practically an adult.

But that was the thing: she wasn't. She couldn't care less. She missed dancing in the rain. She missed coloring books and naptime and juice boxes and Saturday morning cartoons. And with him, right now, in that moment…well, she hadn't been that happy in so long.

He stopped his watchful eye and came up to her, rain weighing down his hair and dripping down his face. From a certain angle, he looked like he was crying, tears of joy if the smile on his face told the story. She was breathless from her playtime, a wide grin upon her face. Killian walked right up to her, wet-toed shoes touching and breathing in each other's puffs of breath. His one arm came up to her bicep, his thumb swiping from side to side on her arm. His mouth opened and he started to say something, but all he got out was "Emma" before a crash of thunder rocked the world around them and lightning bolted across the sky.

It illuminated his eyes, those blues that jewels envied, and there was an undertone of something in them, hidden behind the mirth and mockery and general joy he had when she was around. There was a moment happening, _he's going to say something important_ , but she was so caught up in her moment that, _Jesus Henry, I just don't care._

"WHEN THUNDER ROARS," she yelled in his face, scrambling for the front door of their building, "GET INDOORS."

His face fell as she ran off. And while, dammit, she wanted to know what it was he was going to say, she was awfully relieved Mother Nature, for once, went against her wishes. And, _you know_ , she followed her gut.

They arrived in his room, still sopping wet. Without hesitation, Killian walked to his open closet and began stripping down, oblivious to Emma. Shocked by his brazenness and her confusion, she was stuck in her place, staring at his back muscles and the surprising amount of scars he had there. The rainwater was weighing down his pants, the top of his boxers peeking out. _Fitting_ , she thought. _The boxer wears boxers_.

He was pulling a t-shirt over his head when he turned around and met her gaze, looking at her like she's insane.

"Swan, you'll catch your death in those clothes."

To a more extreme extent than his, she was dripping all over the floor and, now that her eye candy ( _whoa, what_ ) was covered, Emma shook her head and searched for something to dry herself off. She reached for the blanket that had warmed them previously, but his hands ripped it away from her.

"No, you need to change," he insisted.

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes, beginning the tedious search for her keys, but softened fabric whumped her on the back of the head. She caught it before it tumbled to the still-growing puddle at her feet.

A sweatshirt, gray with emblazoned red letters on the front, worn from age and too many washes. "What's this for?" she asked.

Killian managed to change into some sweats in the short span of time she hadn't been paying attention to him. He breezed over and started pulling at the hem of her shirt, gradually moving it up over her head. She smacked him hard before even his fingers reached her waist.

"Excuse you," she chided, backing away from him. He didn't reach for her again, but instead tried again with words.

"Look, you need to change into something dry before you get sick," he explained. "It'd be bad for you and the baby. Just put on my hoodie and take everything else off."

"Excuse me?" she asked this time.

His face failed to conceal his annoyance. "I'm trying to be a gentleman, Swan," Killian groaned. His hands cupped her face, disallowing Emma to focus anywhere but on him. "Now, strip. I'll look the other direction."

Still wary of the force with which he all but commanded, another shiver wracked her body, more violent than the last ( _why the hell have they turned the A/C on so early?)_. She nodded once and he smiled, patting her cheek before letting her free. Killian turned away, gathering his dirty clothes into a pile of laundry to be done while Emma divested herself of her shirt and shrugged into his sweatshirt. The warmth and dryness comforted her immediately, calming her tremors enough to undress her legs. Her sweatpants were the first thing to absorb rainwater, and when they hit the ground, they smacked and spritzed her ankles.

 _Thank god for spandex_ , she thought, casually throwing the soaked cotton on his growing pile of wash. She felt a lot safer not hanging out in just his sweatshirt and her underwear, even though it was just Killian. _Too much temptation._

Taking the appearance of her pants in his sight range as an okay, he turned to her again and hummed, "I quite like the sight of you in my clothes."

Her hand came up to halt him and a smirk curled her lips. "Put on the breaks, Romeo." The entire effect was ruined when one giant shiver shook her body.

Killian chuckled and shook his head in response. "So stubborn, Swan," he merely said, approaching her and pulling her to the couch. They resumed their previous sitting position, though the cold in her bones had Emma shifting and shrinking the space between them.

 _I'm cold, he's warmer, body heat_ , she told herself. _That's all_.

Once she was settled, he reached over her, pulled the blanket over the both of them, and skillfully pressed the play button on his laptop with his toes.

"A man of many talents," she mused sarcastically, a little preoccupied with his entirety surrounding her.

"Gotta keep the ladies interested," he quipped back, watching at the characters unfroze themselves.

For the first time since this entire ordeal ( _thing, whatever you wanted to call it_ ) happened, she felt — comfortable. She turned her head slightly, and for a second just observed him: the way the dim lights hit the angles of his face, the way his mouth rested in such a self-indulging smirk from his previous wisecrack. And that was where she could have stayed, warm and at ease, with him, pretending to watch Young Justice—

Or...

Few seconds more, and then Killian turned, noticing her eyes resting on him. "Love, why aren't you watching the-"

And before both of them even knew what was going on, Emma kissed him.

His lips were soft, contrasting with his rough persona, and her neck was at a weird angle, so it couldn't last too long. But it was…nice. Promising. Killian reciprocated after a brief hesitation, his one hand coming up to support her neck and… _yeah,_ she mentally sighed.

At least she didn't have to contest with the sexually charged air that had, _let's face it,_ been surrounding them since her mother left anymore. Everything, for the time being, was all laid out in the open.

She drew back, her eyes sliding open and her tongue peeking out from between her lips, almost as if to savor the taste of him, like salt and rainwater and spontaneity. Her nerves jingled through her body. _What have I done?_

_But he almost seems surprised?_

_I mean, really?_ Emma thought to herself when she saw his partially parted lips and his blue eyes still hidden from her. _He invites me to spend the rest of break with him and he's got me like this and he's surprised?_

"I was afraid I wasn't being obvious enough," he finally mumbled, a satisfied smirk raising the corners of his mouth. "Either that, or you were going blind."

Emma slapped his chest as he chuckled. Killian finally opened his eyes, glittering with the possibilities in front of him.

 _Me,_ Emma realized. _He thinks that we can be a thing._

She didn't dignify him with any sort of response, and once more focused on the cartoons shouting at them from the other end of the couch. The rain pattered on the windows nearby, much louder in here than it ever was in her room, and the cartoon shouted at the other end of the couch, but none of it could hold her attention for more than a few seconds stringed together. She had other things on her mind, so she stayed silent, feigning interest in either thing happening with occasional hums and sighs.

But, as per usual, Killian noticed her disinterest. He crunched over, a careful hand coming to lay on her stomach, to shut his laptop, submerging them in the darkness lit only by the faraway streetlights outside.

Instinctively, Emma snuggled closer to his chest.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm thinking."

"I can tell," he said quietly. He shifted minutely under the blanket, his arms moving to surround her waist in what should have been an awkward horizontal prom pose, but he cradled her so fondly that any unease was lost. "I'm sorry. About what I said last. I didn't mean to come off as pretentious." His left hand unhanded her and came up to scratch behind his ear. "You have to know, I didn't want to force you or anything when I invited you up here. I sincerely just wanted to be with you."

Emma nodded against his chest. "I know," she conceded. "I made the move, so sorry if that was too much for you."

"Swan, I could never get enough of you."

She smiled a little bit. "Let's just…let's just let put a pin in that."

"What do you mean?" Emma felt him tense up, his brows knitted together and, in the wake of their new familiarity, she reached behind her and smoothed the wrinkles ( _not gracefully,_ she might add).

"There are more pressing matters to worry about." Killian's arm moved from her waist to gently lay on her stomach, covered still mostly by his sweatshirt. "Yeah," Emma said. "And I'm only human: I can only think about so many things at one time."

He brushed his thumbs in unison, across her waist and on her stomach. "An extraordinary human," he clarified, "but completely understandable. What's your foremost worry now?"

She hesitated only a moment, then turned in his lap to face him as best she could, given the blanket and her complete indesire to move. "When I got my ultrasound the other week, the doctor said it'd be medically best if I…" she gulped and braced herself for actually saying the words aloud (because no matter how many times she has thought them, it was still a shock), "if I got rid of the baby."

His arms tightened around her, the toned boxing biceps rubbing up against her chilled arms. "I should think it's too late for that," he remarked.

Emma slowly shook her head and turned away, listening to the patter of the rain. "Before the second trimester."

"And?"

"I don't know." Her confidence in the conversation was rapidly waning. She wasn't sure why she'd felt the need to tell him this, or even hope his opinion would help her figure out hers, save for that he asked what was wrong. Emma looked him in the eyes, watched the streetlight fade into his irises and the droplets spatter on the window pane of his eyes, refracting deeper blues with his naturally lighter ones. "What do you think?"

"Emma, it's your life," he sighed. "No one's going to make your decisions for you."

Maneuvering her arms to push her upper body up and slightly away from Killian, Emma said, "See, that's exactly what they've been doing my entire life." When she registered his incomprehension, she shifted her body, her bones protesting. "I'm not used to big life-changing decisions like this because all of them have been made for me, whether by circumstance or others." She gathered her thoughts, and then realized how much she was exactly thrusting on his shoulders. What seemed like a simple matter of his opinion, she saw, he could easily construe as asking Killian, her _friend_ above all else, to make the biggest decision of her life so far.

That was a lot to ask of anybody.

"I'm not asking you to make the decision for me," she clarified. "I'm asking for your input in hopes that it might help me make my decision."

He unconsciously held her closer, bending her in some way that should've been uncomfortable, but Emma found soothed an ache here and a pain there she hadn't been aware she had.

"Emma, you do make your own decisions," he urged her. "You don't let anyone dictate your life." Killian squeezed her into his chest. "You kissed me, lass, because that was what you wanted. You don't need anyone's say to live your own life."

She huffed, "That's not an answer."

Killian jostled her with his laughter. "I will say nothing more than I will heed any decision of yours."

She groaned at his annoyingly neutral answer. So, Emma tried a different approach. "What if your girlfriend came to you and said she was pregnant. What would you want her to do?"

Killian shifted and she could just tell that this was probably the wrong path to have chosen. She had hit a nerve. He wasn't looking her in the eye, one of his favorite pastimes if she had to guess. He fidgeted around until she couldn't take it anymore. She turned around and faced back into the darkness of his room.

"I would want her to make the right decision for her," he finally said. His thumb brushed up against her elbow, tickling her.

Emma grunted, softly banging her head into his chest to get him to stop. "You can't be serious."

"You're getting nothing more out of me, Swan," he firmly stated.

"Fine," she grumbled. "Thanks, you've been no help."

They laid there, not saying anything, just enjoying the body heat and quiet within the raindrops. Her eyes started to droop, not that he could tell that fact, but her breathing gradually deepened. At the precipice of evening out, his lips came up next to her ear.

"I do think you'd be a wonderful mother," Killian whispered, using his nose to sweep back a wisp or two of her hair. His lips pressed softly against her temple. "Truthfully."

His words have her relaxing into his chest with her head comfortably resting under his chin and her arm resting on top of his. Emma trailed her fingers from his wrist down his forearm, her guard coming down the closer to unconsciousness she got.

"That's all I needed to hear," she practically sighed, allowing her eyes to succumb to the weight settling behind them.

It was nice to feel so innocent, or at least to pretend her naiveté was still intact. Someone else's opinion to factor in her mind.

There, in Killian's room, she made her decision and she fell asleep, her fingers finally stilling on his arm in a loose grip around his wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to leave a word. We're just over halfway through the story. Hope you're liking it!


	16. Chapter 16

“C’mon,” she whined. “These fit yesterday.”

“Maybe you’re bloated,” Ruby offered. She was laid out on her bed, filing her nails. “Or maybe it was that entire pizza you ate yesterday.”

“Hey,” Emma exclaimed, a pointed finger toward Ruby. “You had a piece.”

Ruby guffawed. “Of a twelve piece pizza that’s now gone.” The brunette drew Emma’s attention to the empty, grease-stained pizza box on the floor of their room ( _jeez, they were pigs_ ). “Are you sure you didn’t have a bad day yesterday?”

Emma shook her head. _It was only a bad day if the past four months have been considered utopia._

She’d been considerably happier since she heeded her heart’s warning and decided that, yes, she’d become a statistic, become a teenage mother, but who cared? Killian was there for her, her morning sickness had calmed significantly, she wasn’t worried about Neal and his empty threats, and she was looking forward to summer vacation away from campus. As long as she was happy with her decision, everyone else could suck it.

Now she just had to get up the courage to make her pregnancy public knowledge. She’d called her parents as soon as she made her decision. Her mother was over the moon, as Emma expected, and was, according to her father, already knitting a baby blanket for her grandchild.

David didn’t really say much when his daughter spoke with him, but even Emma could tell he was relieved that she made a decision by herself for herself.

Losing her fight with the jeans she was trying to pull up her legs, she relented with an angry huff and tore them off her legs. She rifled through her pants drawer, laying eyes on a pair of gym shorts. They’d be much more comfortable and easier to put on, plus they were adjustable to the barely-there bump protruding from the bottom of her stomach.

 _Besides,_ she thinks, _it’s going to be warmer today. Shorts weather. No one will know the better._

“I still can’t believe you ate that much food and didn’t hurl seven ways to Sunday,” Ruby said. “You literally threw up four times in the past two months for no reason, but shove an entire pizza down your gob and you don’t even blink.”

Emma shrugged as she looked for a shirt. “I was hungry,” she simply explained.

“Go for the red shirt,” the brunette suggested.

Her eyebrow raised, Emma turned to her roommate. “I’m wearing green shorts. It’s May, not December.”

Ruby laughed heartily as Emma quickly got frustrated with her. “You’ve been spending too much time with Hook,” she said as a knocked echoed off the walls of their room. She stood up to answer it. Emma struggled to pull a shirt over her head, out of the sightline of the door.

A hand on the doorknob, Ruby asked, “You decent?”

“Never am,” Emma sassed back.

A grin growing on her face, Ruby opened the door to reveal an uptight, well-dressed older man holding an envelope and leaning on a cane. “Hello,” she greeted him skeptically, her smile disappearing. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Miss Nolan?” the man inquired.

Curious, Emma, now fully clothed ( _in this stupid red shirt because, damn, did Ruby know fashion_ ), stepped around and out of the closet. “That would be me.”

“Miss Nolan, I’m Mr. Gold, the resident director for this building,” he introduced himself with a slight incline of his head. When he straightened, he took a deep breath, handed her the envelope, and continued. “I’ve recently been informed by your R.A. of your condition-”

“Condition?” Ruby interrupted him. She looked to Emma, whose pale complexion and wide eyes told her something was wrong. “What condition?”

Gold glared at her, but that was the only crack in his façade. Emma was grateful he could sense that Ruby didn’t know about her ‘condition’ and didn’t reveal anything to her. “I’ve been recently informed by your R.A. of your condition,” he started again, “and regret to inform you that you are no longer allowed to live here.”

Emma gulped and, if it was possible, paled even more, but nodded in understanding. “Yeah, no, I get it,” she agreed quietly. She coughed to clear her throat and strengthen her vocal chords. “I wasn’t planning on moving back in next year.” And, under her breath, she added, “Couldn’t if I wanted to.”

“I’m afraid you misunderstand, Miss Nolan,” the resident director corrected her. “I mean you may not reside here for the rest of the semester.”

Both Ruby and Emma were flabbergasted: Ruby because her friend was getting kicked out for some condition she didn’t know existed and Emma because _excuse me?_

“But, sir, finals start next week,” she beseeched. “I live in Maine, I can’t commute three hours for my exams.”

“Miss Nolan,” he said with absurd calm, raising his open hands in front of his chest and closing his eyes, “when you signed your community living agreement, you agreed to peacefully vacate your room if asked.” His eyes opened again, a tenseness lurking underneath them now. “Now, I am asking, so if you would kindly gather your belongings-”

“What, now?” Emma asked in disbelief. “You want me to move out now?”

“Mr. Gold, please.” Ruby stepped forward, taking up a protective stance in front of Emma. “Let her stay until finals are done. She’s paid the fee for room and board and, in agreement with the contract, unless you refund her for the week and a half, two weeks she has left in her lease, she doesn’t have to leave.” She approached to Gold, invading his personal space and standing nose to nose with the man.

 _She’s taller than him with those heels,_ Emma thought absentmindedly.

“Look, Mr. Gold, I don’t know what’s going on with Emma, but can’t you find your humanity?” Ruby pointed out. She gestured to Emma behind her. “You can’t kick her out right now, she’s not prepared, her parents have no idea, we’ve both got exams to study for.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Please.”

It was a pregnant, _no pun intended_ , pause before Gold finally sighed. Craning his neck around Ruby, Gold inquired, “When’s your last final, Miss Nolan?”

“The 20th.”

“What time?”

“12:30.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and leaning heavily on his cane with the other, he sighed. “You must be out of this room by 2 in the afternoon on the 20th,” he relented. “I will inform the housing committee of this change.” Then he addressed Ruby. “You, young lady, are going to make an excellent lawyer in the future.”

Ruby slightly bowed her head, another smile growing across her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

Gold gave them a single solemn nod. “Good day, ladies. Best of luck with your exams.” And with that, he left.

Ruby closed the door slowly and quietly before turning to regard a disheartened Emma now sitting on her bed. Emma’s head was in her hands and she was scrubbing her face, a headache poking at the base of her neck.

“Emma?” Ruby hesitantly asked. “What was that about?”

_Tell her._

_Don’t tell her._

_She pretty much already knows._

_Keep her safe._

“When’s my phone?” she sniffed. _When did I start crying?_ She was searching for her phone when Ruby took her by the shoulders and forced her to look her in the eye. She was crouched in front of her, teetering on her heels, trying to regain her center of gravity.

“Emma, what’s wrong?”

Emma shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong, per se.”

“Well, something’s not right,” Ruby reasoned. “It’s not every day the resident director knocks on our door and tells your roommate she has to move out.” Her hands dragged down until they were tangled with Emma’s, a quadruple knot of hands. “Does this have something to do with Hook?” she gently asked.

When her roommate didn’t respond, Ruby shot up and stated pacing. “Oh, I knew it, I’m going to fucking murder him.”

Emma shook her head vehemently and wiped the tears leaking onto her cheeks. “No, Killian’s been nothing but a godsend.”

“A godsend?” Ruby’s eyes had fire in them. Her manicured fingers stopped in their brushing back her bangs. “Emma, please tell me what’s going on,” she implored. “I’m your best friend. You can tell m-”

“I’m pregnant.”

As if she was being tasered, Ruby’s spine went ramrod straight. “I thought you said Hook didn’t have anything to do with this!” she yelled.

“He doesn’t. It’s not his,” Emma serenely said. “He saw me after I took the test and I couldn’t keep it to myself, so that’s why he’s around all the time.”

Ruby was hurt, Emma could tell. There was something about the set of her knees that gave the impression that any confidence she held in Emma was seeping away. “You told some guy who ran into you in the hall before you told me?” she questioned incredulously. She knelt down in front of Emma again and wrapped her fingers around those of her roommate’s. “Why?”

Emotions out of hand, Emma felt tears roll down her cheeks anew. “Ruby, I really wanted to tell you, I promise, but I didn’t want you-”

Her voice broke when Ruby walked away, way away, out of the room. Emma followed her friend’s swaying steps to peek her head out the door and watch her get into the elevator.

“RUBY!” Emma shouted, but the elevator doors closed and she softly banged her head against the door frame.

“This is what I was worried about,” she mumbled to herself as she went back into her room.

0000

“You still haven’t heard from her?” Killian’s voice crackled from the other end of the phone line. The boxing team was away for the weekend, another tournament somewhere closer than the spring break one.

Emma swallowed her last bite of burger, gracelessly wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “No. She never came back last night.”

In fact, Ruby hadn’t even as so much as sent an emoji or a Snapchat, something she was prone to doing whenever she was in a mood or even out of the room. Absolute radio silence, and if there was one time for Emma to be worried about Ruby, it was when she said absolutely nothing at all. “Has Victor said anything?”

“Not specifically,” Killian said. The rest of the team in the background started screaming, some commotion that had the words ‘incubator’ and ‘cucumber’ in the same sentence. When he next spoke, his voice was lower and a little bit louder, signifying he was probably covering his mouth to be heard. “Would you like me to ask?”

“No,” she said as she pressed the up button for the elevator. “I’m getting in the elevator, so if I hang up on you, I didn’t actually hang up on you, just lost service.”

“A likely excuse.”

“Better be ‘cause it might happen.” She got in pressed the button for her floor. As she ascended, she asked, “So, any sagely advice seeing as you kinda got me into this mess?”

“I did no such thing,” he gasped. “If you don’t know where she is, then I can only advise you wait for her to come back and then tell the truth to her.”

“That’s what I was afraid you’d say,” she sighed, getting out of the lift. From the corner of her eye, she caught the tail end of Ruby’s dark hair fly into their room. “Hey, Killian, I’ve gotta go,” she hastens to say. “Here goes nothing.”

He bade her goodbye, adding on a “Good luck, Swan” for good measure.

After ending the call, Emma jogged to catch the door before it slammed shut. “Ruby, look,” she started, “I know I should’ve told you, but you have to understand-”

Ruby held up a hand to silence her roommate. A moment passed, then two, before she spoke.

“I am your best friend, correct?” Emma nodded and Ruby sighed. “I’m not happy about not being the first to know, but I’m happy you did tell me eventually. I get where you’re coming from and I get that this is not an ideal situation.” She came right up to her and looked down at her. “But you have to know,” she stressed, “I will not leave you, I will not judge you, I will not spend all of your money buying a rockin’ new wardrobe.”

Some of the tension diffused with that because _of course that would be Ruby’s first concern._

“You are my best friend,” she stated, “and I’m sorry for being an ass earlier.”

Biting her bottom lip to keep the trembling to a minimum, Emma opened her arms wide and Ruby stepped into them. The blonde rested her head on her shoulder and squeezed tightly, silently thanking Ruby for everything.

When they separated, Ruby had a smile on her face, albeit it small one, but it was the toothy, open kind.

“So,” she drew out, “how old is my niece or nephew?”

Emma laughed, every knot of guilt and angst leaving her body. “You know we aren’t actually sisters, right?”

Ruby shrugged and removed her phone from her jacket pocket, pointing it toward her roommate. “Look, I’m the closest thing this is kid is gonna have to an aunt.” She flopped on her bed and began doing whatever she did on her phone all the time. “You’re welcome. I can’t wait to spoil it rotten on my poor college student budget.”

Emma just smiled again. “About four, maybe four and a half months, to answer your previous question.”

Ruby looked away from the screen just long enough to smirk. “Halfway there.”

“Cue Bon Jovi.” Emma took a seat on her bed, hands calmly in her lap, waiting for Ruby to continue her interrogation.

“What’s Hook’s role in all this?” she asked, sitting and scooting back to her pillows. “I would’ve thought you’d have told me if you guys were hooking up.”

“I would’ve, but since we aren’t, I didn’t find it necessary.” Emma shrugged again. “It’s like I told you earlier: he’s just been helping me out, keeping me calm, making sure I take care of myself.”

A sly grin from Ruby wasn’t accompanied with any comment, but she returned her attention to her phone. “Do you mind if I tell Victor?” she asked. “He just texted me. Something about Killian asking for me.”

“Um,” Emma hesitated. _Why not? He’s going to find out anyways._ “Yeah, but tell him not broadcast it.” Ruby gave her a confused look over the top of her phone. “I need to start telling people, but I don’t necessarily want the entire world to know at once,” she explained.

“Do your parents know?”

“Yup.”

“And the father?”

Emma huffed through her nose. “Yeah.”

“And it’s…?” Her wrist rolled, hoping that her roommate would fill in the blank.

Disgust obvious on her face, Emma clicked her tongue as she debated whether to tell Ruby that much information. Finally, she reluctantly mumbled, “Neal. Neal’s the father.” Ruby’s arched eyebrows was a tame reaction compared to what Emma thought it would be. “Definitely don’t go broadcasting that.”

“Oh, darling, you don’t have to worry about that,” Ruby assured her. “Is that why Gold came?”

The blonde nodded. “I told him, Neal, and he threatened to go to the housing committee.” She stood up and grimaced. “Not an empty threat, it seems.”

“You’ll be fine,” the brunette reassured her. “I won’t let them kick you out. We’re so closed to finishing our freshman year and nothing, and I mean nothing, is going to keep us from doing it together.”

The corner of Emma’s lips tipped up. “Thanks, Ruby.”

Ruby waved it off.


	17. Chapter 17

Being the topic of campus-wide news wasn’t at all what Emma expected it to be. _Not that I wanted to be the center of attention at all._

“How do you deal with it?” she mumbled to Killian one morning on their way to breakfast. Ruby was at her other side, the brunette and the boxer flanking her and acting as her bodyguards. In the week since she found out, Ruby hadn’t managed to completely empty her bank account in favor of ‘Pudge,’ as she’d come to call the baby. _She could be stressing out other ways,_ Emma would think, final cramming well underway as the first day of a week of exams loomed on the horizon.

“More often than not, I pay attention to someone else,” Killian responded, giving Emma a pointed look. She grinned absurdly and leaned into his shoulder. They still weren’t necessarily an item or an anything at that, but the sun was a little brighter and everything was a little more bearable when he was around.

Ruby scoffed. “Please, do not make me barf up the breakfast I haven’t even eaten yet.”

Killian merely winked at her while Emma glared.

Walking back from the diner, Leroy appeared in front of them. Always one to greet the usually grumpy guy, Emma put on a friendly smile and gave him a short wave. But he scowled in return, going so far as to slow down and eye the bump peeking from her fluttering shirt hem. Pudge had become even more pronounced in the past couple days alone, expanding and hardening somewhat, forcing her into pants that stretched at the waist.

 _Leroy’s always been nice to me,_ she thought. _He even checked on me when I was talking with my mom not too long ago._

Emma’s eyes must have narrowed, given some telltale sign of her hurt, because Killian’s arm was wrapping around her, curling her body into his, and Ruby was following her sightline.

“Hey,” Ruby called him out. “No vagina, no opinion, Leroy,” she said, butchering the _Friends_ quote.

His grimace shifted to Ruby and then he was on his way, grumbling.

Ruby must’ve seen the horror of his judgment in Emma’s eyes. “Don’t worry about them. If they want to attack you, they’re going to have to go through me and Hook here first,” she said as Killian’s hand came to rest on the small of her back. It wasn’t definitively protective, him staking a claim on her when she could (and had) totally held her own, but it was something they had silently agreed on in their newly-evolved relationship. Whereas before they wouldn’t so much as look at each other ( _knowingly_ ) for too long, there was more of an understanding here: his hand lingering as he helped guided her through a door, her head resting on his shoulder a little more often, their hugs lasting a little longer than necessary.

Emma weakly smiled, putting on a brave face. She shouldn’t care what the common chatter is, whether it was about her and her choice and, realistically speaking, she didn’t.

But she did.

It was a complicated feeling, knowing that she was content with her decisions, her life choices, but still questioning herself based on the social cues and values she’d been raised on for seventeen years. Emma was the salmon in the proverbial river, swimming upstream when everything else told her to follow the current except for her instinct, which pleaded with her to rush the rapids.

She didn’t like it, but she could learn to deal with it.

Not that she should have to.

“Thanks guys,” she quietly thanked them.

Ruby gave her a toothy smile and continued toward the cantine, a few steps ahead of her and Killian, allowing them some privacy.

“Are you okay, Swan?” he asked, his nose to the hairline above her ear. His hand still rested at her back, slightly higher than originally, but still grounding enough for Emma to focus.

She jerked her head in a nod. “I’m fine.” It was a flimsy lie. Completely transparent, if his reaction told the truth. He could see right through the automated words, but his only obvious response is to move his hand up and down her spine. Neither of them pressed the issue further. _At least, not for now._

The cantine was crowded, as per usual. The trio waited in line, got their food, and proceeded to find a picnic table outside to eat and chat.  The sun shone, giving them a well-deserved break to relish in one of their last days of freedom before they had to lock themselves behind closed doors and veiled windows to study. Emma was especially happy: with her burgeoning stomach hidden under the table top, she was once more just a college student. A _normal_ college student.

During a lull in her part of the conversation, while Killian and Ruby went on and on about the perks of having exams early as opposed to late, Emma pulled out her phone and checked her email. Her inbox was cluttered with the usual assortment of listserv emails suggesting study groups and last minute questions, but there was one different from the rest. The sender only showed up as University Se. Out of curiosity, she opened it, read it, her face reddening and her knuckles wrapped around her phone whitening, before she angrily stood and left the table.

Disgust was painted across her body language as she stalked away. Ruby’s head perked up when she left and motioned after her to Killian. He watched her for a moment before unwinding himself from the table and catching up, Ruby soon following suit.

She hadn’t gone far, reduced to pacing and frustrated mumbling under her breath. Her musings got easier to hear the closer they got. They could almost fully comprehend when Ruby’s heel cracked a random branch.

“A hearing,” she said, whirling toward them. “They want me to go to a hearing.” She looked to Ruby. Her emerald eyes were almost black, the red in her cheeks adding to her fiery image. “I thought he said he was done with us. I thought he was letting me stay.”

“Em, what are you going on about?” Ruby asked cautiously.

Emma huffed and took up pacing again. “I just got an email from the University Senate which, by the way, didn’t know we actually had, that I’m expected to be at a hearing in the middle of finals.”

“And what’s the reasoning?” Killian inquired.

“They didn’t say, nothing specific at least.” Emma feigned throwing her phone on the ground and stomped her foot. She hypothesized to Ruby, a finger in her face. “I bet this is Neal’s fault.”

“I mean,” Ruby said hesitantly, “Gold did come and talk to you.”

Killian drew his neck back a fraction in confusion. “Who’s Gold?”

“Resident director person guy, I don’t know,” Emma babbled. “He came and knocked on our door and told me I needed to leave the dorm.”

“Pardon me?”

“Don’t worry,” Ruby calmed him, a friendly hand on his shoulder, “I told him off for her.”

The glance Killian gave Ruby was weird to say the least, but anything he was going to say was put on hold when Emma began to speak.

“Look, all that doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’ve got exams to study for and I don’t have the time or patience to deal with whatever they’re going to say.” She threaded her fingers through her hair in irritation. In a complete 180 of emotions, her anger faded to fright. “What if they take back what Gold said? What if he lied?”

“Emma, you’re going to be fine, it’s all going to be okay,” Ruby assured her.

Killian came up to her, grabbed her upper arms, and stopped her pacing. She ducked her head into his chest and his arms wrapped around her, applying a little pressure as if to hold her together. It was still new, this kind of touching. Do they touch like this? Is it okay? Are they at this level?

 _Talk about complicated._ She was the one to put a pin in the matter, but they never discussed any stipulations. _Ugh, not now._

But his scent surrounded her, leather despite not wearing a jacket and warmth and comfort, and at that point she realized nothing really mattered at all, at least in this particular department. Ruby’s hand gently came down on her back, lightly running up and down her spine. Onlookers would think the three of them seemed a right mess, Emma could feel themselves burning on their corneas, confused at the threesome with the pregnant girl in the middle of it all.

After collecting herself, she sniffed to stave off tears ( _and fucking hormones, man_ ) and pulled back. _Except his hands are still holding me together and I’m afraid that I might collapse marionette-style if he lets go._

“Just focus on studying, Em,” Ruby advised her. “This is all a bunch of bullshit anyways.”

0000

As if pregnancy wasn’t tiring her already, the long nights of studying combined with early morning exams, an inability to consume caffeine, and her nerves on the subject of this hearing made Emma a dead man walking. And while all of campus had moved on from her news to the annual semester-ending complaints, everyone had made the conscious decision to stay as far away from the cranky pregnant girl as possible.

“Even Leroy’s not coming close to me, and not just because of what Ruby said the other day,” Emma whined to Killian the night before the hearing. She glanced over to him with one eye open. “Honestly, am I really that horrendous?”

“I find that it’s probably best I don’t answer that question,” he chuckled. She should be angry, but she was just too utterly fatigued to do so, so she merely smiled back.

“Thanks, Hook,” she said smarmily.

Killian sat up.  “Oh, I’m Hook now?” he asked. His question held no heat though, that genuine smirk of his decorating his face.

“Yeah, you’re Hook when you don’t answer my question.”

“There’s no need to be rude, Swan.”

She sighed, bringing her hands down her body to rest on her stomach. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. Her fingers skimmed over the skin of the bump.

“That’s why Leroy’s avoiding you,” he said quietly. Killian rose from his seat and knelt at her bedside. “You’re already quick to anger and this,” he gestured to her stomach, a centimeter away from touching it and both her heart and stomach jumped, “has made that candle wick even shorter than normal.”

Her eyebrows screwed together. “I feel like I should take that as an insult.”

“It’s merely an observation,” he shrugged. “Take it as you will.”

His books are sprawled out, open to various pages, on what was formerly Ruby’s bed. She moved out, her grandmother forcing her to immediately after her final yesterday. But he didn’t sit with them now; no, instead his back was against the wall next to her bed and she shifted so her head was in his lap. Eyes squinted, she looked up at him.

“You need to study,” he reminded her. “You’ve got an exam the day after next.”

“I can’t study right now,” she sighed. Her eyes fluttered shut. “I’m too jumpy about tomorrow morning.”

He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and quietly asked, “Would it make you feel better if I was there?”

Emma opened one eye. “If I say yes, will you tease me about it?”

“Never,” he grinned. Killian playfully yanked the lobe of her ear. “Are you sure you have no idea what’s going on with this summons?”

“No idea,” she answered. “I bet it’s taking back what Gold said though.” She inhaled deeply and then pushed herself up into a sitting position. Taking in what’s left of her room, she thought aloud, “I guess that means I should pack.”

“Do no such thing. Study. Enjoy your time relaxing,” he insisted.

She scoffed. “Easy for you to say.”

“Easy?” he incredulously laughed. He threw his arm out toward his neglected textbooks. “I’ve got fifteen chapters of American government to learn.”

She smirked. “And you thought my history lesson on the Declaration of Independence was inane and fatuous.”

He groaned as made his way back to his study torture chamber. “Smugness and snark don’t become you, Swan.”

“Sorry,” she shrugged, “it’s the only thing I’ve got.”

0000

She fidgeted in her dress. It didn’t fit quite right, hugging places on her body she hadn’t been aware existed and was pretty sure hadn’t yesterday. Her phone was silenced now, in the last minutes until she was allowed into the committee meeting room, Ruby having just hung up on the other end and her parents’ barrage of text messages subsiding as they returned to their work. Killian was in the middle of his final right now, but promised to come to her side when he was finished. It was his last one, so he could technically head home tonight if he wanted to, but an end-of-semester shindig tonight was keeping him on campus for now.

They were going together, Emma and him, just as friends, she kept reminding him. He insisted otherwise, _the entire team knows about your situation and they get it, just do me a solid and come as my date._

She was going, _of course she was,_ it was the light at the end of this god-forsaken tunnel, and if one of his teammates asked if they were dating, she’d tell them the truth. But if they asked if she was his date, she’d say yes. Because it was true.

Ruby had helped her pick out a dress, something she wouldn’t be ashamed to wear if Pudge decided to grow a little more, and the excitement for the entire night out was mounting with each passing moment. She couldn’t wait to wear it that night, red and actually accentuating her curves in all the right places, unlike this one. Emma hadn’t had a reason or desire to go out, be social, since she found out she was pregnant. But damn if she was going to miss this opportunity.

The doors creaked open, forcing her to just let her dress hang as Mr. Gold pushed them open.

“You can come in, dearie,” he creepily said.

The shivers that traverse her skin and raise goosebumps made it a little more difficult for Emma to stand. But she did, brushing invisible dust from her skirt and following Gold in.

It was big and threatening, not exactly what she was expecting. She thought her hearing would be in some little honky-tonk room, much like the ones student groups held their meetings in.

No, this room was straight out of _Judge Judy_ or _Liar Liar_ or _Law and Order_ or whatever other law shows there are. All the furniture was brown, what she assumes is the committee sat behind a huge desk, a barrier separating them from the ‘common folks.’

She was feeling fine before, but now she was unsure again, all of her parents and friends’ encouragement fleeing her mind.

Gold led her to a small podium at the center of the desk behind the barrier, facing the dozen or so members of the Senate. She nodded her thanks, nerves closing her throat and fear of throwing up or squeaking keeping her mouth shut.

_I thought I was done with morning sickness._

Her eyes followed Gold as he moved to the side of the room, where she saw a line of chairs against the wall. Gold took the empty seat closest to the barrier, next to her advisor Dr. Hopper.

 _What’s he doing here?_ she thought. She vaguely registered her eyebrow raising and the embodiment of one of Killian’s ticks calmed her slightly.   _It’s not like I have to make my schedule or anything._

But the kicker was who sat next to Dr Hopper: Neal, a malicious excuse for a comforting smile on his face.

Emma internally groaned. _As if I wasn’t already nervous._

_Why am I here alone?_

_Just hold out a little longer, Killian will be here soon._

“Miss. Emma Nolan?” The man she assumed was the president leader guy of the Senate read her name from the file in front of him. She nodded again. “Can you confirm that you are a student at this university in her second semester?” She nodded. “Let the record show that Miss. Nolan is nodding her assent. Do you know why you’ve been summoned to this hearing, Miss Nolan?”

Here, Emma cleared her throat. “I’m actually not quite sure,” she said almost woozily, “but I have an idea.”

“Why do you think you’re here today?” another member asked. This one was a woman, and somehow her invasive question came off a little more caring than the formality of her superior.

“I’m assuming it has something to do with what Mr. Gold came and told me.”

“And what did he tell you?” she pushed her further.

“He came up to my room and said that I was being evicted from my dorm room, but then he took back his original demand that I leave as soon as possible and pushed it back until after I take my finals.”

“Did he say why you were being evicted?”

She gulped. “Because I’m pregnant.”

“So you can confirm you are pregnant?”

She nodded ( _she’s doing that a lot today_ ). “Somewhere around four or five months.”

The woman leaned forward, focusing her gaze more intently on Emma. “You understand that the university can’t have you living in your current dwelling anymore.”

“Yes,” Emma said, quickly getting annoyed, “but like I just said, Mr. Gold said that I can stay until my last final, which is tomorrow afternoon.”

“Indeed,” the president said. He made a note on in his files. “Do you have a plan for the future?”

“Yeah,” Emma said. His eyes rolled up to look at her, but his face didn’t move at her casual tone. “I mean, yes. I’m going to have the baby.”

“Have you considered adoption?” he asked.

“I’ve looked into it.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie: she had looked into it, the whole adoption thing, but she knew she wanted to keep the baby, no matter if it was a constant reminder of Neal. It was hers, literally a part of her and, though she knew she was nowhere near ready for the responsibilities motherhood thrusted upon women, is any mother ever really ready?

The doors behind her opened and closed with a sigh, allowing entrance to a new spectator. Everyone else knew who it was, save her. Emma was too afraid to look, fearing it might break her concentration ( _or cause me to blow chunks._ )

“Good,” the council head said. He shifted in his seat a bit before grabbing a gavel ( _where’d that come from?_ ) and hit it once on the desk in front of him. “Well, in that case, we, the University Senate, accept your withdrawal from the University of-”

“Excuse me?” she interrupted his statement. Her jaw dropped and _no, this cannot be happening_.  “Withdrawal? I never agreed to dropping out.” She gestured wildly for no other reason than she couldn’t control it. “I’ll move out, but I still plan on coming back in the fall.”

“Really?” the head of the committee replied. “Even with a child?”

“Hell yeah.” There was heat emanating from within her, she could feel the anger bubbling up. _Why would he think otherwise?_ “I won’t be living on campus, but I’ll definitely be attending classes.” She leaned toward them, her weight supported by the podium in front of her. “This is my dream school, I worked myself halfway to death to get here. There’s nothing that can stop me from getting my education and graduating.”

“What about your child?”

“Yeah, what about the kid?” The voice was a new one to the conversation, coming from the wall of chairs. She rolled her eyes and looked to its source. Neal, of course, and of course it’s the first words he’s spoken to her in months, and he was asking about the well-being of the child he refused to acknowledge existing.

She glared at him. “I don’t know! I haven’t figured out specifics yet. I just know that I plan on coming back in the fall.”

Neal shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t you think you should be at home with the kid?”

Her jaw dropped even further, nearly dislocating the bones when she saw the head honcho guy nod in agreement. She searched the face of the woman, the only woman, who spoke earlier. “Are you seriously going to let them ask me questions like that?”

“Answer the question, Emma,” Neal grumped. Gold’s hand rested on his shoulder and it rubbed her entirely the wrong way.

And then she recalled a conversation, her short of breath, his body pressed tight against hers, the creaks of a dorm room twin bed and there were words, something about free tuition, ‘my father works on campus.’ It clicked. Gold was Neal’s father. That’s how they knew.

This was Neal’s fault in so many more ways now.

“No, Neal,” Emma answered curtly. “I don’t think I should stay at home just because I have a child, especially since you’re the reason I’m standing up here.” She gave him one final glare and then returned her attention to the council. “I deserve all the opportunities everyone else has access to, regardless of whether or not another human has come out of my vagina.”

“Miss. Nolan, there is no need to be so vulgar,” the Senate leader chided.

Emma groaned and all but slammed her head into the wood of the podium. “It’s not vulgar, it’s anatomy! If you plan on asking me stupid questions, count on getting stupid answers, you misogynistic pig.”

The council members responded in various grumbles and sounds of surprise, one even gasping “Miss. Nolan!”

“How dare you…” the Senate leader started to say, but Emma was too far gone to let him continue.

“How dare I what? Speak the truth?” She threw her arm behind her, vaguely motioning to the rest of campus outside. “This is a highly-praised university, I’m confused as to why they would hire you when you won’t allow me the same luxuries you’re allowing him,” she pointed an accusatory finger at Neal. “Did he tell you that he’s the father? Did he tell you that he didn’t wear a condom and he’s the reason I’m knocked up right now? Did he tell you he pretty much took advantage of me while I was intoxicated, he was verbally abusive, he had sex with a minor? Did he tell you any of that?”

Silence. She had managed to shock the room into complete silence. Gold glared at Neal, hand gripping his shoulder with so much vigor that his knuckles bulged. Fear shone in Neal’s eyes, anger flaming underneath.

When this whole ordeal was over, she needed to get out of there fast or else he’d come after her, she was sure.

The quiet was finally broken when the head honcho coughed. “Miss. Nolan, were you drinking underage?”

Her hands covered her face. _This is getting to be too much._ “Are you serious, that’s what you get out of that? Are you fucking serious?”

“Miss. Nolan, that sort of language will not be tolerated in this meeting room!”

“Does it look like I care right now?” She walked around the podium and approached the desk, despite the reprimands of everyone else in the room. Her eyes barrowed into the woman’s head. “How do you deal with him? How do you deal with any of them?”

“Miss. Nolan, please return to the podium,” the leader said roughly. “This is getting out of hand.”

“You’re getting out of hand!” It was a childish response, she knew, but _this could not be happening._ “I’m a victim here! Not your school, not you, certainly not him! My life is going to change dramatically and you’re worried about me being a blemish on your record. You, sir, are one of the most-”

A hand on her shoulder halted her from continuing her sentence. It was a familiar sensation and it caused her to whirl around, her hair waving out around her.

Killian.

 _He must’ve been the one who opened the door earlier_.

“You’ve got to calm down,” he whispered. “They aren’t worth your time and stress.”

“Young man, who are you?” the woman asked.

“It matters not,” he respectfully answered. To Emma, he murmured, “Swan, leave now. With me. Figure out their punch line and we’ll escape this toxic environment.”

She nodded smally and turned back to the Senate. “Tell me why I’m here so I can leave.”

They seemed taken aback with her sudden change in tone. “You were summoned to discuss your withdrawal due to pregnancy, but I think the council will agree with me if we change withdrawal to expulsion.”

“Psh, don’t bother,” she declared. “I’m done with this school. Please cordially accept my withdrawal from this esteemed university.” The sass and distaste was obvious in her tone and she drawled out the syllables of her final words.

Killian steered her from the courtroom as she valiantly tried to keep herself from breaking down. This had been her dream, attending this school, and now it was shit. _Probably for the better, if that’s their viewpoint on the issue of student safety._

“Sexist pigs,” she muttered as Killian held the doors open for her. He chuckled slightly and escorted her out into the hall. There was a bench nearby, and he gently guided her to a seat on it before occupying the space next to her.

“You okay?” he asked finally.

Emma deliberated for a second, then shook her head and leaned into his shoulder, slowly allowing tears to run down her face. He followed her lead and remained quiet, just comforting her by rubbing her back.

“It’ll all turn out, love,” he insisted. _Fucking optimist._ “Don’t you worry.”

The hearing room doors groaned open and sighed shut again, the echo of thick boots stomping approaching them. It stopped right in front her, her eyes only taking in the familiarity of them on the floor.

“Hey, Em,” Neal very originally greeted her. She didn’t dignify him with a response, just turned her face further into Killian’s shoulder. “Em, talk to me,” he begged.

“I don’t believe she has anything to discuss with you, Gold,” Killian defended her.

“This is none of your business, Jones,” Neal growled back. His voice altered completely to talk to her. “Emma, please. I’m sorry about what happened in there. I know how much you wanted to be here-”

“No you don’t,” she said. Her voice was hoarse between the yelling and the sudden lack of use. “Know why? You never asked. All you wanted to talk about was your life and the next time we were going to fuck.” She breathed deeply, a calm settling over her. “You were a big deal to me, Neal. And now you’ve gone and fucked me over.”

“I know, Em, I know. I said I was sorry, what else do you want me to do?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I want you to go away. I never want to see or talk or even hear you breathe.”

Neal nervously laughed. “That’s going to be hard, Em, seeing as we have a kid-”

“Oh no you don’t,” Emma interjected. “You don’t get to insert yourself into this baby’s life. This is my baby, my son or daughter. You’re merely a sperm donor. Nothing more.”

“But I-”

“Get no say in the matter, you misogynistic sexist abusive horrible human being, if you can even be called that.” She stood up from the bench and yanked Killian up with her. They left Neal in their dust without a word.

“Emma,” he pled, chasing after her. She had nothing more to say on this matter, but she knew he wasn’t going to stop until his entire piece was heard.

Barely the pad of one finger of his grazed her shoulder before Killian spun around and punched the other man in the face.

“Killian!” she screamed, but no bigger reaction could happen because his hand was around hers and they were jogging down the hallway and out of sight, leaving Neal to his moans and groans and overdramatic tendencies.

Finally escaped from the administration building and out on the open greens of the campus, Emma scolded him. “What was that about? You could get kicked off the team or suspended or-”

“No man disrespects the mother of their child, least of all Gold,” he snarled. He was furious, no doubt about it, with the grip he had on her hand and the fire she thought only her eyes could hold. “No one belittles my Swan.”

She was surprised by his actions to say the least, but the added possessiveness, _my Swan, as if I once belonged to someone else, but now him, never me_ threw her. His movements mirrored his word choice: his arm wrapped over her shoulders and his body blocking the path behind them from her sight.

But his reaction could never be enough to completely eclipse the fortitude of what she had just done. It was beginning to catch up with her, what had just happened back in that building, with Gold and Neal and “Oh god,” she barely breathed. “Oh god, did I actually just quit school?”

A little bit of his anger left him. “I believe you did.” He kept pushing her further toward their building. “You did make your mark on that council though. I’m sure they won’t soon forget the wrath of Miss Emma Nolan.”

Her hands brushed over her forehead. “Oh god,” she said again. She tried to come to a stop, but his arm around her shoulder keeps her going. “I need to call my parents.”

“Calm down, love, we’ll be back in your room soon enough.”

Emma nodded, still reeling. Playback was frying her brain cells, fast forwarding and rewinding what had happened so fast that the event itself was beginning to meld into other stupid decisions she’d made and, honestly, that wasn’t a can of worms she was prepared to open just now.

One thing stuck out. “Thanks, for stopping me, and for taking me out of there,” she finally thanked him, just as the roof of their building came into view.

“Nothing but a pleasure,” he told her. And then his smirk appeared. “You’re quite a firecracker.”

And, despite everything, she smiled. “Shut up.”

“It’s a compliment, Swan.” He brushed his nose to her cheek in some sloppy version of what she supposed was a chaste kiss of some sort. Any regular teenage girl would be worried about the implications of such a simple gesture.

She wasn’t a regular teenage girl. Far from it now. She didn’t mind it, didn’t have the brain power or focus to overanalyze it. There were more important things to concern herself with, like telling her parents that their only daughter was now a pregnant college drop out.

_That was going to be a fun conversation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dunnnn.


	18. Chapter 18

Her parents were on their way up the elevator, if her father’s text from ten minutes ago was to be believed. Her measly wall decorations and desk tchotchkes, pale and few in comparison to Ruby’s long gone ones, were all packed away, her suitcases bursting at the seams on her roommate’s mattress, and Emma herself sitting quietly and nostalgically on her plastic dorm bed, twiddling her fingers.

Ever since the hearing yesterday, she has just been in a state of shock. Killian stayed with her through the night, skipping out on his boxing party, her so-called light at the end of the tunnel, to comfort her silently while she called her parents and told them the news, to calm her when the tears seemed ceaseless, and eventually to just lay next to her until fatigue caught up with her and drew her into unconsciousness.

She’d need to thank him one day. But not today. She hadn’t told him that her parents were picking her up, right now in fact, and taking her home for the foreseeable future. As a family, they were going to petition the university, the board, someone and anyone who would listen, to get Emma back into school next year. She’d tell her story, how her R.A. knocked her up and she had to suffer the consequences while he continued his studies, just to get back the one thing she’d worked so hard for. This couldn’t have been legal, some sort of violation of Title IX, but no one was going to stop them if they didn’t fight.

A knock sounded at her door, cracked open from back and forth trips to the bathroom, and her parents’ face slowly peeked from around the corner. Emma’s face crumpled, her muscles straining at the overuse, and Mary Margaret swung the door wide open to embrace her daughter.

“Emma, baby, it’s all gonna be okay,” she eased her, stroking her hand through the blonde hair she inherited from her father.

David closed the door, shutting off the private affair from the rest of the world. It shouldn’t be broadcasted for all of Emma’s schoolmates to be privy. His arms wrapped around the shoulders of both his girls and they stayed like that, a family unit standing strong at the beginning of an uphill battle, until Emma composed herself. Mary Margaret and David both pulled away, but she kept a hand on her daughter’s arm and he leaned forward to kiss Emma’s temple.

“Sorry,” Emma apologized, wiping away the tear stains.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” David said. “You’re upset, as well you should be.”

Emma gave them a sad smile and then clapped her hands, banishing bad thoughts and tears alike. “The sooner I get out of here, the happier I’ll be.” She threw her arms out to the pile of her belongings. “Help yourself to the heaviest of things.”

David chuckled as her mother picked up a bag and grabbed for another. “What happened to the firewood stacking and kills heavier than this?”

“I’m emotionally compromised and pregnant, do not question my logic.”

He held his hands up in surrender and picked up a box of her things. Emma lifted her pillows and the three of them headed downstairs and packed up the truck, the conversation minimal, casual, and nonintrusive. Between them, Emma’s belongings only afforded a trip and a half on the elevator. When they came back up, Emma allowed her parents take the few things that remained and asked them for a few minutes alone. They acquiesced and headed back down, discussing whatever ( _probably her)_ in hushed tones.

This place, this room, held a lot of memories: Ruby and Killian and Neal even. She regretted not actually meeting other people, even just in her hall, getting out more, but it was probably for the best now that this mess was just that: a mess.

She inhaled deeply, recording one last look in the film strip of her mind, and closed and locked the door for the last time.

“Hey, beautiful, on your way to your final?” she heard just as the deadbolt slammed home. Emma squeezed her eyes shut. She was hoping to avoid him. Between being kicked out, her parents’ arrival, and the slew of pregnancy hormones ( _which, of course, just made everything worse_ ), she felt like she was a basket case.

_This sucks._

“Uh, not exactly,” she said, trying to cover up everything with some, what she assumed was, sardonic commentary. “Though I guess you could say it is a final something—“

Killian raised his eyebrows suspiciously. “Swan,” he drawled almost as if scolding her.

Emma fixed the bag strap on her shoulder. “The final semester, the final day, space, the final frontier—“

He must have sensed something was off because before she could walk another step, he grabbed her arm and held her back. “Swan, what’s wrong? “

Her phone lit up. A text from her father, saying they’re ready to go anytime now. She darkened her phone as soon as she finished reading, trying to hide the words from him, but Killian saw it and connected the dots. But despite all that, Emma tried to pretend he hadn’t. “I need to get downstairs.”

But as she tried to turn away, Killian’s grip tightened gently on her wrist. “Swan, you can’t go.”

Emma closed her eyes. _God, why is this so hard?_ Trying to cover up how much she wanted to just fall on the floor and cry ( _like she hadn’t already done that, contemplated it, and nearly carried it out when she got up this morning)_ , she sighed loudly, and tore her wrist from Killian’s hand. “Killian, I woke up this morning to an email from my professor saying I wasn’t allowed to take my final exam and get an F in a class I’ve been working my ass off in all year. So, sorry if I don’t have time for some heartfelt goodbyes, if that’s what you’re looking for but I have to go.” _That came out harsher than I hoped_. But, she couldn’t help it anymore. She was angry. She was angry, and sad and scared and if all this came out on Killian—

But he shook his head. “No, you don’t _have_ to do anything. You’re leaving because you’re scared.” He said it gently, not cynically, but the tone only made Emma tenser. _Of course I’m scared, I have the complete and utter right to be. I’m one kid up and one college education down… But that doesn’t mean he needs to call me out on it._

_Why does he do this? Why does he know me so well?_

“No, Killian.” Her eyes watered and her voice lowered, “I’m leaving because I _literally_ have to. Council hearing, pregnant psycho girl rant, R.A. with a bloody nose, maybe you remember it? I have no choice.”  _Which isn’t a lie, but isn’t the whole truth._

Killian scoffed, eyes wide in disbelief, like he never would’ve pictured her as a person to concede, say these words, so easily to him. “So, just like that, you’re going to go? You’re making it that easy for them? Emma,” His voice had a begging undertone, something she’d never pictured for him. He reached for her hands again, but Emma turned again. He dropped his arms, obviously hurt. “Why not just stay, why not try to fight—“

She shook her head. “Killian—“

“Why are you doing this, why are you so scared?”

“I’m not scared!” Emma said, the words sounding more and more fake with each pass of her tongue. “I am going to fight, tooth and nail, but I’m tired. There’s been too…much, just too much in the past couple hours alone.” She fiddled with her fingers, trying to fathom her thoughts into words. “I’m not scared,” she repeated, although more quietly and unconvincing.

“Is it because you saw a future here?” Emma couldn’t stop herself from scoffing, but Killian persevered. “It’s not impossible, Emma, you’ve just given up. You’ve given up on all of it-- a life with, here, with your kid, a job, people you trust—“

“People I trust-- What, like you? Here?” She rolled her eyes and shook her head, taking a step toward the elevator, her open palm coming between them stop any of his protests “Look, you’ve been great through all of this, but it’s better if I go. Besides, the housing committee was going to kick me out as soon as they got wind of my ‘withdrawal.” She turned and left him at the door, shuffling to the lift and pressing the button solemnly “There’s nothing I can do. Not now, at least.”

There was resolve in her eyes, she could feel it burning brightly there, but what’s reflected in his eyes when she finally looked up almost broke her again. He didn’t say anything for a while, time shrinking much more quickly than either of them would like. They could both hear the whirling of the pulleys in the elevator shift, crescendoing to the end of their final meeting. The doors glided open. Silently, Emma stepped in the elevator, and Killian followed closely behind her, looking straight towards the door, knowing as soon as they opened again, they’d never see each other here again.

“You could come home with me.”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she turned to him, still staring at the cold metal doors. She scoffed, “Uh, I don’t know, Killian, I’ll have to check if U-Haul goes overseas—“

“No, I don’t mean--” Killian sighed, trying to get his words together as he ran a hand through his hair. Finally, he turned to face her. His blue eyes were even more so, somehow, brighter. “Just come visit. Sometime over the holiday. I’ll show you all the sights.” His fingers wrapped around her wrist and she allowed him to this time. “We’ll go to all the best pubs, we’ll have a fantastic time.”

Emma’s face softened, the warmth of Killian’s fingertips pressing into her skin sending waves of comfort, of him, down her arm, through her chest. “That does sound nice.” She said, finding solace in his words. “Wait— can I even fly like, this?”

A grin appeared on his face, “Well, Swan they have these amazing inventions called aeroplanes—“

She cracked a smile at that, unable to help herself. “Aeroplanes. Who are you?”

Slowly, Killian began to inch forward, across the invisible line they had drawn between themselves in the elevator, until he was so close stray strands of Emma’s hair rested on his five o’clock shadow. He looked her straight in the eyes, raising one hand up to brush a few from her cheek and behind her ear. His voice lowered to barely a whisper. “See, maybe your leaving’s for the best. You’re beginning to sound like me.” Her brow raised in question and he gave a low chuckle in response. “And pick up my mannerisms.” He paused, trying to be serious. “Ask your physician, it should be fine.”

For a second, Emma forgot who she was. She wasn’t the pregnant girl being kicked out of school: she was the girl Killian Jones, her school’s star boxer, the guy that every girl or gay man yearned for, was staring at in an elevator. The same girl who he hung out with and cared for _because there’s no denying it_. The same girl who he invited home with him, across an ocean, just so she could live.

And it was wonderful.

The elevator came to a screeching halt at the bottom floor and Emma let out a breath. “I don’t want to go.”

Killian smiled. “Then don’t.” His palm slid down until it matched hers and entwined their fingers as the doors opened.

Her phone started incessantly buzzing from an incoming call from her mother. And it all came rushing back, and Emma pushed herself away from Killian, unwinding her fingers from his, and exited the lift. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t do any of this, too much, too much. “No, Killian, I can’t—“

Killian tried to follow her, once more obviously hurt. “You can’t what? This or—“

“Anything, everything.” Emma rubbed her hands over her eyes, head pounding. “I can’t deal with any of this right now Killian. My entire life has—and you can’t— ugh.” Emma pounded the ignore button on her cell and started stomping to the door.

But Killian followed.

“Look I’m sorry--” She didn’t break her stride. “Emma, wait.” In an instant, Emma felt a hand on her shoulder and reluctantly, she stopped. He said her name, her real name. She heard him let out a long breath, and turned around just as he whispered, “Just promise you’ll come.”

Emma slowly shook her head. “I don’t know Killian, it’s a lot of work and I’ll have to check with my parents—“

“Just,” he said calmly, “promise me you’ll try.”

Emma’s phone buzzed again, successfully interrupting any reaction Emma may have had. Quickly, Emma unearthed it from her bag to find Mary Margaret’s face on the screen. She grumbled, rolling her eyes as she answered it.

“Yes, mom?”

“EMMA NOLAN, WE ARE LEAVING AND I WILL COME UP THERE AND DRAG YOU TO THE CAR,” her mother yelled.

And, like any teenager, Emma replied with “I’m coming, calm down.” She hung up and gave Killian a long look.  “I’ve got to go.”

He sighed. “So I heard.” He scuffed his shoes across the floor before adding, “Call me.”

Emma gave one half-hearted laugh. “Did you really just say ‘call me’?”

His nod was short. He licked his bottom lip and shrugged. “Or text me, whatever’s easiest.” Killian shrugged again. “I want to know how you’re doing. Emma.”

Slowly, her smile grew and said softly, “Good.”

Without looking back, Emma made her way outside. She didn’t have what she knew she wanted but lost and in a few months, she’d have a baby, something she never thought she’d wanted but had. Now, walking out that doors, the question still lingered in her head: what did she want, now that her life was like this?

Stepping into the car, Emma realized: this _was_ her life. Even if she wished things were different, they weren’t. She thought back to everything, to her first ultrasound, to the council hearing, to Ruby, to the warmth of Killian’s hand as he interlaced his fingers in hers.

After a moment, settled into the backseat of her father’s truck, she stared out the window. _Maybe I don’t know exactly what I want,_ she thought, _but now I’ve got nothing but time to decipher that._


	19. Chapter 19

“I hope you were serious about letting me visit.”

Emma was lying out on a lonely lawn chair at Storybrooke’s public pool. It wasn’t really hot enough to actually justify getting in the water and coming back out, especially with the breeze coming off the ocean nearby. It was just nice enough to sit out in the sun, absorbing the warmth in a bikini, (which, somehow, still fit her, though the bottom was a fraction too small thanks to her stomach, but her boobs finally fit into the top just perfectly.)

“Of course I was,” she said into the speaker of her cell. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he hesitantly started, “I didn’t make it to the next round of tournament, and my flight doesn’t leave for another couple days…” Killian sort of trailed off, letting her end the sentence for herself.

“Wait, someone beat you?” she teased her, easing herself up to a sitting position.

“I know, I know, wound my ego later,” he said. “I’m already homeless, Swan.”

Shifting her phone, balancing it between her shoulder and other ear, she started packing her bag. “When do you need picked up?” she asked.

When he responded, she can hear his smile. “As soon as possible.”

“I’ll leave now and we’ll be home in time for dinner.”

“You’re a marvel, love.”

“Yeah, I dare you to tell me that after I wound your ego even more,” Emma quipped.

“Oh, darling, you could tell me to go fuck a corpse and I’d stand by my assessment.”

“Ew,” she cringed, “did not need that imagery.”

“Well, just think,” he postulated. “You’ll be able to see my devilishly handsome face in mere hours. That ought to wash your conscious of the picture.”

“Your mug shot?” she scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Ah, that’s my Swan,” Killian commended. “I best get to packing. I’ll see you soon.”

Already covered and on her way out, Emma pushed the gate open to walk home. “Bye.”

0000

Her butt was cold. That was the only thing she could really register as she rested on the bumper of her mom’s station wagon, playing around on her phone. Nearly three weeks had passed since she left campus and it felt weird to be back. Just like in elementary school, there was a mentality that schools just didn’t exist during the summer. Why anyone would go back during their short time of freedom was lost on her.

And yet, here she was. Back at her dream school. With little headway into her crusade to get the university to allow her back in the fall, it was bittersweet. _Emphasis on the bitter._ But it was early in her fight and she had hope that peaked and ebbed with every new development in her case. Her mother was convinced that her rant in front of the University Senate had gone ‘a tad too far,’ and while her father agreed in the moment, he took it back and gave her the proudest look she’d ever received when they bid each other goodnight later.

The only reason she would come back (besides working toward her reacceptance) on such shaky terms was because she agreed (and promised) to come back here for Killian. And now that she was here, not only was she nervous about being caught or questioned, but now she was nervous about _him_. She was seeing Killian for the first time in almost a month and he was coming to stay at her house, where she could show him around and it was summer and she hasn’t been this nervous ever, she thought idly.

Emma fidgeted, fingers of one hand scrolling on her phone while the others played with the edge of her loose shirt. A breeze snuck its way up and caused the fabric to flutter around her stomach.

“My,” his voice called from across the road. She looked up to see him, halted at the dip in the sidewalk. “Looks like Pudge is eager to make an appearance.”

The smile that spread across her features was even more absurd than she ever thought imaginable. “Maybe Pudge was just excited to see you.”

His chuckle echoed off the stone buildings around them. “I can only hope you share the sentiment.”

She shook her head, pushed off the bumper, and barreled toward him. He dropped his bags ( _since when was he carrying things?_ ) and held his arms wide, just in time to catch her. His fingers gripped at the base of her head, curling through her hair, his other arm pulling her closer. Her hand cradled the back of his head and her nose buried into her neck.

“I guess you could say that,” she whispered into his skin. His laugh reverberated into her bones and she was pretty sure there are happy bubbles in her stomach because of it. She breathed in and she was completely overwhelmed by him. “Oh my god, you smell the best.”

“So what they say about heightened senses is true,” he imparted with a smile. She felt it just above her ear, his grin, and it was more than comforting. He drew back first, those baby blues she didn’t realized she missed making contact for the first time. Loathed to remove her arm from his waist, she let it rest there for a moment longer.

“Hello there, Swan,” he finally greeted her.

Her cheeks reddened with her expression of emotions and she dragged her hand back to her side. “Hi,” she murmured.

He grabbed his bags and together they walked to her car. “Thanks again for coming to get me, love,” he thanked her. “Living in the dorm was both unnecessary and undesirable.”

She laughed. “My father officially invited you, so it’s totally okay,” Emma acknowledged. And, with a shrug, she added, “Besides, it’s a little lonely at home.”

With a cocked brow ( _god, she’s missed that stupid quirk_ ), he inquired, “Why’s that?”

“I mean, my parents are both still working and Storybrooke’s not really a-” she hesitated for the right word. “I want to say progressive, but I don’t think that’s what I mean.”

Killian’s mouth opened in an O and he nodded. He eyed her stomach as she opened the trunk of the car and her shirt rode up. “Do they know the situation?” he asked, putting his bags away and pointing to Pudge.

She waited until the trunk door slammed shut from her own force to answer. “I’ve told everybody I want to know and I was sitting poolside in public in a bikini when you called me earlier.” Again, she shrugged nonchalantly. “They can put two and two together in their own time.”

They parted, Emma heading toward the driver’s side and Killian to the passenger’s. He smiled at her over the hood of the car the entire way around. Just before she sat in the driver’s seat, her curiosity got the better of her. “What’s that grin about?”

Killian mirrored her movement and shrugged. “You’re positively beautiful.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes as she got into the car. “If you say I’m glowing at any point in time, I will punch you.”

Chuckling, Killian entered in and both of them buckled up. As she ignited the engine and pulled out of the parking spot, a thought occurred to her. “By the way,” she casually mentioned, one hand on the shoulder of the passenger seat, making sure she doesn’t hit anyone or anything, “my parents don’t know you’re coming.”

He groaned. “Swan, are you trying to get me killed?” Emma untwisted her spine, facing the road in front of her and sparing a glance to her passenger. His hands ran through his hair and scraped down his face in distress. “Please, if you want me dead, let your face be the last thing I see and not the rapidly approaching fist of your father.”

She giggled. “He invited you,” she muttered.

Settling further into the seat and getting grouchy, he crossed his arms over his chest. He mumbled, “Yeah, but I’d like to see you try being reasonable with him.”

Despite the driving hazard, Emma reached over and squeezed his knee. “You’ll be fine.”

0000

He valiantly tried to stay awake for the entire drive, but when Emma finally pulled up to her building and cut the engine, he’s been asleep for an hour and a half. She’d chastise him, but he was adorable when he slept, hair in his face and lips barely parted. His face was innocent, calming, and Emma thought if her child’s resting face was anything like his ( _not that it would be_ ), she’d be more than happy.

After a brief debate on whether to be gentle or rude in waking him, Killian shocked himself awake, gasping, eyes wide. His hands hit the dashboard and then the window like he was trying to escape.

It surprised her, this sort of notable reaction from simply waking up. “Hey Killian,” she tried to soothe him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, you were asleep, but we’re home now.”

He took a few deep breaths and calmed considerably at her words. As he finished stretching, he scratched the back of his neck and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I’m sorry, love,” he grumbled out. His voice was rough, like sandpaper across her ears. “I didn’t mean to pass out on you.”

Opening the door and getting out of the car, Emma waved off his apology. “Don’t worry about it.”

He, too, got out and met her at the trunk. They didn’t say anything as they reached for his bags. Killian glanced up at the apartment building next to them, then down the street both ways. “So this is the infamous hometown of Emma Nolan.”

She nodded and flip-flopped her way to the entrance. “Yup. All three stoplights of it.”

His faked fascination charmed her, though it wasn’t like she needed more of reason to like him. She buzzed into the building, shouldered her way in with Killian shortly behind her. They walked up the three flights in silence. Not uncomfortable, she noticed. While Emma fumbled about for her house key, she heard his audible gulp. An eyebrow arched, she silently asked him what has worried about.

“How long d’you think I’ll have to prepare myself for your parents’ wrath?”

Before Emma can answer, the clanging of pots and pans echoed from the other side of the door. “Approximately ten seconds,” she said and she couldn’t help the smirk that follows.

Finally finding her key, she unlocked the front door, unable to dodge his jab in her side and muttered “minx.”

“Mom, I’m home,” she yelled when she entered. Emma abandoned her bag near the door and threw her keys on the nearby table. “And I brought a friend.”

“Oh!” Mary Margaret exclaimed from the kitchen. “Is Graham back in town?” She appeared, towel flung over her shoulder and plate in her hand, and her mouth dropped.

“Can’t say that he is, Mrs. Nolan,” he replied cheekily. “But if he does and I find out who he is, I’m make sure you’re the first to know.”

Emma slapped his arm.

“Killian,” Mary Margaret said cautiously. It was neither a greeting nor an admonition. She glanced at her daughter and tried to ask the questions she has through looks and raised brows so as not to be rude. “What a surprise.”

“Yeah, sorry, Mom,” Emma apologized, meeting her in the kitchen. Gesturing to the guy trailing behind her, she continued, “Killian called me while I was at the pool today and long story short he needs a place to stay until his flight home.” She hesitated, puttering about in the fridge, before asking, “We were hoping he could stay here.”

“How long?”

Killian answered this time. “Little less than a week.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms. From the worried nibble on her lip, Emma knew her mother was exactly that: a mother. When they used to walk the streets of Storybrooke years ago, they would walk past boxes of kittens and her mother couldn’t keep herself from bringing the entire box back to nurse them until they were well enough for the animal shelter. Killian had no other place to go, Mary Margaret knew that. There was no way she would turn him away.

“I say you can stay, but Mr. Nolan’ll have final say on the matter,” she relinquished. “Do you want something to eat or drink while you wait?”

“If I could bother you for a glass of water, that would be delightful.” Emma looked over her shoulder at him, glaring at his sweet talking as she closed the fridge. He winked in response.

“And you, sweetheart?” her mother asked her, shutting the final cabinet door. “How are you feeling today?”

“Hungry, as usual,” Emma said as she sat at the counter. Killian stood awkwardly until she patted the seat next to her. He shuffled over and did as she suggested. Mary Margaret set a hastily-made sandwich in front of her daughter and a glass of water in front of Killian. Emma took one bite with gusto, thrilled to sate her hunger, but as she chewed, her face drops.

The remainder of the sandwich returned to its plate, Emma grimaced and swallowed. Killian shot her a confused look and she just shook her head. “I’m not that hungry anymore.”

Mary Margaret heard her from the other side of the kitchen. “It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “I’m starting dinner soon.”

Emma slid down from her seat and jogged to kiss her mom on the cheek. “Love you, Mom.” She grabbed a banana and strolled past the island, grabbing Killian’s hand as she went. “I’m going to show Killian around.”

“Don’t go too far.”

“We won’t.”

Killian trailed behind her up the steps. “Where we going?” he asked. “I thought you were showing me around.”

“I am,” she told him. Emma reached the top of the stairs and opened the door to her room. She pulled him in before shutting the door behind her.

“You weren’t kidding when you said we weren’t going far,” he chuckled. “I thought you were going to show me around your town,” he admitted.

She shrugged. “There’s not much to show. Besides, you’re tired, I’m tired.” She shrugged nonchalantly again and scooted on to her bed. “I thought you wouldn’t mind a nap. Or talking and catching up.”

Killian gently sat next to her. “Swan, love, we’ve talked every day since we left.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Emma grinned this silly happy smile.

_This is happy._

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her temple to his shoulder. His lips pressed against her hair. “That you did,” he calmly remarked.

They sat there for seconds that stretched into moments that stretched into minutes, just taking each other in. Eventually, Killian’s hand began running the length of her arm, waking them from the stupor they’d fallen into. “You said you were tired?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, raising her head from his shoulder. Emma yawned and stretched, forcing Killian to stand from his spot. “It’s become more of a fortified personality trait now, between being a college student and now pregnant.”

Waving his hands, he shooed her further up the bed. “Don’t let me stop you. I’ll just peruse the contents of your room.”

“Don’t be silly,” she chided him. Emma reached and took his arm and yanked him down to the bed with her. They tumbled together and Killian quickly moved until he teetered on the edge of the mattress. Lying on her side, she faced him and giggled. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“But you do throw a strong punch,” he added.

“I learned for the best,” she smirked. He responded in kind, pride shining his expression, but it faltered when she resumed with, “my father wanted to make sure I was properly protected from creepy college boys.”

“Hey,” he countered. She cocked a brow, waiting for the end his sentence, but he stumbled over his words and finally laughed. “I have no good answer to that.”

They both laughed then. Emma reached forward and pulled Killian closer.

“Swan, no, wait,” he wavered. His hand moved to her stomach, barely covered by the fall of her shirt. “I don’t want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable.”

She scoffed. “C’mon, Jones,” Emma answered. “You fell asleep in the car and you scared yourself awake, which” she pointed at him “is an entirely different matter that we will discuss later.”

Emma crawled under her blanket, but he stayed atop it. “Look,” she moaned, “if it makes you feel better, you can just stay to one side of the bed over the covers like a nun. You can even set an alarm.” She curled up on her side, looking up to him. “I just…I missed you.”

He scooted closer to her, the grin back on his face. He made a big show of taking out his phone and setting an alarm. When finished, he set it between their bodies and she closed her eyes.

“Stop staring,” Emma mumbled a minute or two later, bringing the covers up to her nose.

“I’m not staring,” he whispered conspiratorially back. She felt his hand brush against her ear, and he wrapped a strand of hair around his finger, giving it a slight tug. “Go to sleep, my Swan. I’m here now.”

She breathed deeply. “Your cockiness can calm the fuck down. You just smell real good.”

His laughter was boisterous and she pounded on his chest once for disrupting her peace before resting her hand on her stomach. He listened to her as her breathing quickly evened out. The hand in her hair traced her arm to the end of the path at the bulge of her stomach.

He, too, soon fell into unconsciousness.


	20. Chapter 20

Incessant dings and vibrations roused Emma from her nap. She hit around on the mattress until the noises stopped. She opened her eyes to find Killian’s nose crinkled in discontent.

“Noooo,” he groaned, scooting closer to her and wrapping his arm around her back. “Ten minutes.”

“You’re the one who set the alarm,” she reasoned. The front door slammed shut in the distance, so she started her struggle to get up. “Besides, my dad’s home.”

His hand fisted at her back, and it briefly stopped her from moving. “I fail to see the incentive in that train of thought.”

She shook her head, finally reaching the edge of the bed. “Just straighten yourself up and come down in a couple minutes,” she requested. He squinted one eye open a fraction, looking for an explanation. “Don’t want them thinking we’ve been up to something.”

_Not that there’s anything worse we can get up to._

He groaned again and sat up himself. “Fine,” he relented, joining her on the edge of the bed, “but only because he’s the deciding factor in the length of my visit.”

Emma smiled and rested her hand on his knee. “He invited you. Just remember that.” She squeezed his knee. “Whatever he says or threatens, he invited you.”

With a small final smirk, Emma grappled with standing and left her room, heading down the steps to see Mary Margaret greeting her father with a sickeningly sweet kiss. _Honestly, after so many years, you’d think they’d either get the hint or I’d get the hint or something._

“Hey Dad,” she casually said, followed immediately by “I’ve got a question with only one right answer.”

David chuckled and opened his arms for her. “Hi, princess. My day was fine, thank you for asking.” Emma pulled back and looked to his blue eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“Remember spring break when I went back to school early to-”

“Spend some time with Killian?” His arms crossed and his face took on a more stern expression. “Yes. I know you’re not telling me you’re pregnant, so spit it out.”

She sighed. “He called earlier today saying he needed a place to stay, so-”

This time, the creaks and groans of the staircase interrupted her. She whirled around to see the boxer himself descending the stairs.

“So you went and brought him home,” her father finished her sentence for her.

The atmosphere in the room grew a little tense as Killian appeared next to her. The two men stared at each other. The last time there was this much testosterone in the loft, Graham and her father broke the coffee table arm wrestling. There was just too much macho masculinity within the entire situation. Killian hadn’t said a word yet, as if he’d been fretting about it ever since he woke up from their nap.

_Probably even beforehand,_ she thought, briefly flashing back to when she picked him up on campus.

Surprising his daughter and wife, David stuck out his hand, a peace treaty, and Killian met it with his own. Gripping the boxer’s hand, her father asked, “How long will you be staying?”

Still shaking hands, Killian responded with “Just a few days.” He hesitated again before adding, “A week at most.”

Emma internally grinned. _He knows he’ll be here more than a week._ But, she’d be willing to bet, he didn’t want to intrude on her father’s good nature.

The tension broke when a smug smirk spread across her father’s face. “I guess I could deal with the even numbers for a little while,” he postulated. He released Killian’s hand and walked over to the kitchen island. “We’ll discuss sleeping arrangements later, but no funny business.”

Killian nodded and nervously chuckled, but Emma sighed in relief. She joined him in the kitchen and hugged her dad.

“Thanks, Daddy.”

“Anything for you, princess,” he said, pressing his lips to her hair. Then, to his wife, he nonchalantly asked, “So when’s dinner?”

0000

Her parents pretty much adopted him before they even properly sat down for dinner. Mary Margaret scolded him for not washing up for dinner just moments after coddling him and making sure the air mattress they’d blown up for him had enough blankets to his liking. David challenged him to a “friendly” poker match and asked for his assistance with the truck’s motor.

_This is going surprisingly well._

The evening ended with her parents cuddled up on the couch, Emma’s feet in her mother’s lap, and Killian sitting in front of her on the floor. A _Modern Family_ rerun played quietly on the TV, but the four of them didn’t pay much attention to the jokes and slapstick being acted out on the screen. Instead, they joked about: David ran his up the bottom of his daughter’s ticklish foot, pulling his wife to safety when Emma kicked back. Killian watched the three of them, his face adorned with a silly smile. His timid chuckle joined in their booming laughter from time to time, warming Emma’s heart to no end. Humid breezes filtered through the open windows, crickets serenaded them, and every once in a while a hand would join Emma’s on her stomach.

While his neck leaned back to meet her gaze, Killian yawned so strongly his jaw cracked and his entire body shook from the aftermath of it.

“I’d say that’s a telltale sign,” Mary Margaret giggled, her head pillowed on her husband’s shoulder.

“No, please, don’t stop your merriment on my account,” Killian requested, slowly standing up. His knees cracked in protest. “I’ll just be off to sleep. Even with a nap earlier, I could sleep through the second coming at this point.”

Removing her feet from her mother’s lap and the threat of her father’s nail, Emma scooted up until her back rested against the arm of the couch. “Help me up.” She threw her arms up toward him and scrunched her fingers. “I’ll go up with you.”

He took her hands, carefully pulled her up and into his arms, and held her until she was steady on unused feet. She could feel her parents’ eyes on them, so she quickly stepped away to bid them goodnight.

“Thank you again, Mr. and Mrs. Nolan,” Killian thanked them with a nod. They responded in kind.

“Are you all set up upstairs?” her mother asked for the thousandth time. “Are you sure you have enough blankets?”

“Mom,” Emma admonished, “his answer hasn’t changed since you asked him 10 minutes ago.”

“Really, Mrs. Nolan, I am wonderful,” Killian reassured her. “You’ve done more than I could ever repay you.”

David waved him off and gestured to his daughter with his head. “You’re keeping her sane, it’s the least we can do.”

“Goodnight, guys,” Emma finally bid them.

Together, her parents chorused their goodbye and, together, Killian and Emma ascended the stairs. Amidst their nightly routines, they caught each other’s eyes and shared shy smiles, until she crawled into bed and he flopped around on the mattress, trying to get comfortable.

“Are you finished down there?” she asked him, squinting one eye open after another groan of the floatation device.

“Apologies,” he said. “I am.”

She dropped her hand over the side of her bed, scrabbled around to touch him to calm him down, and found his tousled hair. She ran her fingers through it and gave it a gentle tug. “It’s okay.” Silence reigns for a little while before she added, “If you ever get too uncomfortable, you can join me up here.”

He laughed once. “I shan’t impose on you like that.”

“Not an imposition,” she assured him. “Just get some sleep.”

Come morning, neither of them commented on the fact that when they wake, her hand was still dangling from her position and he was curled up on his side, his hand oddly close to hers.

0000

The week flew by. They got up when the feeling hit them and explored the, in Killian’s words, ‘quaint little harbor town’ that was Storybrooke. Emma showed him all her favorite childhood spots: the pebbled beach she spent her summers on; the ice cream shop she went to on her first date; the town library she spent at least a week straight studying at during AP exams; the sheriff’s station where her father worked.

They even visited Mary Margaret and her students one afternoon. The end of the school year rapidly approached, and with most of the subject material already taught, her mother suggested Killian come and talk about life in a different country.

“It’ll be good for them,” she explained the night before. It was quiet, save for the clinks of silverware and passing plates. “Many of them have never been outside Maine before.”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Nolan,” he faltered.

“C’mon,” Emma encouraged him, “it’ll be fun.”

Both of them underestimated the entire experience. The little girls in her mother’s class swooned over Killian, which had him stuttering and stumbling, scratching behind his ear with embarrassment, more than any college girl could.

_He’s adorable._ The thought flashed across her mind as he kneeled to the girls’ level. And then she tamped it down, watching the tips of his ears rouge when one student kissed him on the cheek.

His cheeks were still red when they relayed the story to David over dinner that night. He eventually joined in their laughter and it made the entire table warm and homey.

_I could get used to this_ , Emma thought.

Now though, they just got back from the town pool, his half-clothed body still chlorinated and her hair dripping from the shower he insisted she take first _because he’s always a gentleman_.

“I hope you’re sitting on a towel,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to wake up to pee and be grossed out by wet carpet.”

He rolled over, further drying himself off on her carpet, to show her that he was, in fact, sitting on a towel. She lightly kicked him back to the towel, doing her best to hide her smile.

“C’mon, shower and put on some dry clothes so we can take a nap.”

“You woke up just two hours ago,” he complained.

“And then I went swimming and now I’m tired,” she said. “Also, need I remind you-”

“No, you need not.” He sat up, reaching for her and poking her belly button, the former innie slowly becoming an outtie beneath her t-shirt. “Pudge is totally on top of the whole reminding thing.”

Emma lightheartedly slapped his hand away and pointed him to the bathroom. Sulkily, he disappeared into the bathroom with dry clothes and reappeared later, pulling his shirt over his head.

_Despite me telling him to not to do that,_ she internally commented. It wasn’t that it was obscene or anything. It was just _obscene_. And with the amount of excess hormones floating around in her body, the last thing she needed was to say or do something dumb.

Like kiss him.

Or run her hands down the ridges of his chest.

Which she had totally _not_ wanted to do since she brought him here.

Not more than once.

Twice.

_Okay, max 15 times._

“What did I tell you about your clothes?” she asked him, annoyed.

“You think they’d look far more enticing on the floor.”

The smirk on his face threw her. She floundered and fumbled with words, because that _does_ sound like something she would say and forget in a hormone-induced incident. The look of horror and embarrassment on her face must’ve shown. He chortled and took a seat next to her on the bed.

“You didn’t actually say that, worry not, love,” he ensured her.

Relieved chuckles sprang from her mouth, letting out an “Oh thank god.”

His eyebrow raised. “Be careful, Swan,” he warned her in good humor. “It sounds like I might be right.”

This time around she blushed, but it quickly faded when the groan of the front door sounded. It was barely two in the afternoon: her father was supposed to work late at the station tonight and her mother told them she’d be staying late to clean her classroom.

No one, save for them, should be there.

“M&M!” The call resounded about the mostly empty apartment. Emma froze, her eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Killian immediately stood from the bed, readying to protect her from whomever threatened.

But she surprised him and left him in the dust, moving as fast as she could to the top of the stairs. When she reached the precipice, her eyes landed on the tall stature of a man, well-dressed and clean considering how long he’d been away.

“Graham?” she breathed. Apparently, his hearing had gotten significantly better since last they saw each other, because he perked up at the sound of his own name.

“I’d’ve thought your folks would’ve changed the locks since I was gone,” he said, turning around, twirling his key around his finger. When he finally found her on top of the stairs, the proverbial princess at the ball, his eyes widened. “Em, take this with a grain of salt, but may I suggest a brief break from the cookie dough binges?”

Emma grinned at the jab, her cheeks hurting from how far the stretched, and descended the staircase. “I had no outlet for my feelings when I thought you’d never come back,” she pouted.

Graham strolled up to the bottom step just as she stepped down. “Never come back? With you here?” He shook his head. “I’d be a fool.”

She threw her arms open to her and he obliged her. Emma tucked her nose into his neck just like those time she had run to him because of heartbreak or stress. And Graham…Graham tried to keep up his side of the exchanged, moving his arms a little longer so as to fit around her new body.

_I’ve missed this._

After a moment of peace, they pulled away from each other. Graham kept a hand on her elbow and escorted her to the couch.

“Would you care in catch me up on things?” he asked once she settled into the couch cushion.

“Well,” she started with a sigh, “freshman year went well. Still undeclared, but I’m leaning toward history, maybe criminal justice. Met a bunch of cool people, one of them’s here up in my room.” She pretended to think about it. “Oh, yeah, and I’m pregnant.”

He exhaled a chuckle and tapped her on the nose. “That’s what I was looking for.”

Now that the endearment, the nose booping, was something she’d come to associate with Killian, the same motion coming from Graham was…well. It wasn’t like the sentiment was unwelcome from Graham, but it was just…different.

“Is this ‘friend’ upstairs responsible for this?” Graham inquired nonchalantly.

“Not at all, mate.” Killian’s voice floated from the steps. It was gruff, his accent much more pronounced than she was used to as he made his way to them. “I’ve been helping her.”

Graham stood from the couch and held out his hand. Not wanting to move now that she was comfortable, Emma twisted about on the couch in order to see her new friend meet her old one. Instead, she was met with a fire behind Killian’s eyes she’d only seen when she’d confronted Neal.

“Graham, this is Killian Jones,” she introduced them. “Killian, this is Graham Humbert.” As the two men shook, she explained, mostly to Killian, “Graham and I went to high school together. He’s been globetrotting for a year. I showed you the last postcard he sent me.” Then to Graham, she probed, “How was it? Where else have you been? Tell me everything.”

“Just a second, Miss Impatience,” Graham chided, pulling his hand from Killian’s and walking back over to the couch. His finger flickered between the two of them, Killian standing at the foot of the staircase and Emma on the couch. “How d’you know each other?”

“We lived down the hall from each other,” Killian provided. “I found her in the girls’ room just after she found out of her current disposition.”

“Ah,” is all Graham said.

“He actually found out before I did,” Emma added.

“Is that so?”

Killian nodded solemnly.

“Graham, we answered your questions,” Emma complained, insistently beating the back of the couch. “C’mon, storiesssss.”

“Alright, calm down,” he laughed. Graham joined her on the couch. “You’d think pregnancy would mature you and instead you’ve reverted back to a 6-year-old.”

“Hey, shut up.”

“Make me.”

She really had missed this, this weird almost-sexual tension that always hovered between them. Everyone in school had seen it, poked fun at them many times over the years. Both of their parents had even commented on it, especially when Emma accompanied Graham to his junior prom. But it was nothing but friendly banter. Always had, always would be.

Killian cleared his throat. “Swan, I think I’ll go walk about town, take in the sights-”

“No, you’ve seen the sites.” She struggled to get off the couch, Graham’s hand pushing her up gently. Once she was vertical, she grabbed and dragged Killian back to the couch, settling between her boys, Killian on one side and Graham on the other. “You’re sitting here and listening,” she commanded the boxer. He was smart enough not to mess with a pregnant woman, so he just sat there idly for a few moments. Sensing his discomfort, Emma tried to calm him down, remedy the situation by squeezing his knee before sliding her hand to his and linking fingers.

Emma caught the flick of Graham’s eye downward. “Have I apologized yet?”

“For what?”

His head jerked toward the lamp at the end of the couch. “That lamp in the seventh grade,” he said. “My mother obviously raised me horribly.”

Killian’s brows furrowed, but Emma kept a straight face. Craning her neck, she glanced at said lamp before turning back to her friend. “As you can see, my parents were so terribly torn up about it, they went out immediately and bought a new one,” she sarcastically disclosed. “Now stop stalling and tell me about your adventures.”

He sighed. “Fine, fine.” Graham cracked his knuckles and started. “Once upon a time…”

0000

“I’m sorry for kind of ignoring you today,” she apologized as they laid awake late that night.

“Love, don’t worry yourself,” he assured her. “He doesn’t come ‘round often, from what I can tell.”

“He doesn’t,” Emma allowed. She stretched under the covers with a sigh. “But you heard him. He said he’s going to move back permanently soon. Something about one last adventure.” She yawned. “He’s using the last of his savings.”

“Sounds like a stand-up guy,” Killian muttered roughly.

She sighed again. “He is.” She shifted her position, trying to figure out if she should disclose the information she knew.

_Do it,_ her conscious told her. _It’ll make him feel better._

“He likes you, you know,” she whispered into the darkness.

“How can you tell?”

“Back in school, when we introduced each other our significant others, we had a phrase.” Emma giggled to herself, thinking back to when they’d first come up with these phrases. Graham had just gotten in a fight with his first girlfriend, something she had called before he’d even grown the balls to ask her out. They weren’t good together, weren’t meant for each other at all, but she’d let him learn that the hard way. “When we didn’t liked them, we’d say ‘Remember that botany book?’ and when we did we’d say ‘Sorry about-’”

“The lamp in the seventh grade,” Killian finished for her. “That phrase makes a lot more sense now.”

“Mhmm.” Emma sighed again, her restless hands finally settling on the rise of her stomach. “I think that’s why things with Neal never worked out.”

Now Killian shifted, rolling on his side to face her and cushion his head on his elbow. “How do you figure?”

“They never met, so Graham never gave his approval.”

“Not because Neal hurt you?”

She had no words. The superstitious part of her was convinced her and Neal didn’t work out because of the lack of the Graham seal of approval. But the practical part of her knew Killian had a fair point.

After a bit of silence: “May I ask you a personal question, Swan?”

“Killian, how many times do I have to tell you?” She flipped to her side, facing his general direction and searching for his features. “Flashback to the shower stall? We’ve reached that point where you can ask me pretty much anything.”

He was quiet again before quietly asking, “Did you and Graham ever date?”

_What? Ew, no._

“What, ew no.”

“Swan…”

She winced. “Not technically.”

“And how do you suppose that?”

Finally finding those baby blues of his in the night, she scrunched her nose. “He was my first kiss.”

His eyes widened, from what she could tell. “Really now?”

“Yeah.” She licked her lips and bit the bottom one before spilling. “It was in freshman year of high school. I kinda just wanted to get it over and done with and he was intent on making sure it was with someone I cared about because it made his memory better and it just kinda happened one night when he came over.” Emma shrugged, teeth still digging into her bottom lip. “It wasn’t a big deal. He’s just kinda been around for me when I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing.” She was quieter than she’d been yet when she added, “Kinda like you.”

Killian grumbled, “Save for he’s been around longer.”

She shifted in bed again, closer to the edge of the mattress. Closer to _him_. “My my Killian, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“I’m not saying I’m not,” he confided her in.

It stunned her, his words. _Jealous? Killian?_ It was almost a revelation on her part. Just like it did his first night on her floor, Emma’s hand reached out for his.

This time, the only reason he hesitated to take it in his was because he couldn’t find it.

“Graham is the closest thing I’ve had to a brother, Killian. If anything romantic happened between us, hell would’ve frozen over,” she assured him. She squeezed his hand for extra measure and snickered. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

He smiled secretly in the dark, the moonlight glinting off his teeth. They disappeared and Emma heard him move again, sensed his presence getting closer and closer. The tension and confusion ended when his lips pressed softly against her temple. “I do, love.”

As he lowered himself back onto the air mattress, Emma’s confusion grew. He’d acted this way toward her before: the kisses on the forehead and the soft voice to calm her. For some reason, now it’d made her skittish.

“Care to enlighten me?” she hazarded. But his breathe had evened out, his movement all but ceased. “Killian? Killian?”

He’d already passed out.

Turning so she lay on her back, Emma’s thoughts transitioned from those of sleep and dreams to a rapid firing mass of who knew what.

_Should I be concerned about some weird form of alpha male domination between them? Whipping out their swords and handing her favors until they joust to the death?_

What she’d said was the truth, at least to her knowledge. She didn’t like Graham. Not the way that she’d liked Neal or the way she was coming to like Killian.

_Oh._

_Oh, there it is._

She was beginning to understand this whole ‘open book’ spiel Killian kept preaching. Unless he was just a cocky ass, _which he was_ , Killian Jones’s Emma radar was actually quite accurate.

And that alone frightened her to no end.

But the fact that his was so much better than _hers_ , the fact that he was still around despite knowing that she was coming to _like_ like him-

_This is so childish._

_It’s too late for this. Future Emma’s problem._

The last image her mind conjured up before following Killian into unconsciousness is of him, of course. Shirtless earlier that day.

_Ugh._

She’d seen Graham shirtless many times over the years, from sleepover or pool parties. Yeah, he had killer abs and was incredibly attractive, she wasn’t blind, but he was _Graham_.

And, though she wouldn’t admit it yet, the butterflies she felt when she’d see Killian…

She never had those with Graham.

0000

Emma woke the next morning to find the floor empty and the kitchen rumbling to life. She waddled ( _I am not that pregnant, I do not waddle. My gait is just beginning to take on a more side to side motion instead of completely forward)_ downstairs to find her mother flipping pancakes on the stove and Killian and Graham nursing mugs of something hot.

“Am I dead?” she heralded. The three already in the kitchen laughed

“Graham wanted to join in on your activities today,” Killian provided. He sipped at his coffee, she could smell it from where she stood. Nothing seemed too off about his countenance, not after what he revealed to her last night.

_Guess we’re just gonna brush it off._

“I just didn’t know we’d be dealing with Sleeping Beauty,” Graham added, unsuccessfully trying to hide his smirk behind his mug. Killian chuckled and arched an eyebrow in approval.

Emma pointed accusatorily to them as she stole the plate of hot pancakes from her mother’s side. “I’m on summer vacation,” she reasoned. Then, before even sitting down, she crammed a pancake in her mouth. “I do what I want,” she muttered around the food.

And so they did. Do what they wanted, as it was. Once she finished stuffing her face, only after her mother and Graham had admonished her for eating so much ( _I am growing a person, I get to eat as much as I want_ ), the three of them headed down to the one place Emma’d yet to show Killian: the harbor. Killian, she sensed, automatically felt at home near the water. His shoulders didn’t slump, but they definitely relaxed. A small smile grew with each step they took on the wooden planks. He wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her into his chest. He inhaled deeply, the salt of the sea filling his lungs and pushing his chest out, making her laugh.

“At home, there was a path that went by my house and weaved down by the river,” he told her. “And when Liam made me angry or I couldn’t do my maths, I’d walk all the way down to the little boardwalk out on the water and listen to it for a while. Let it calm me down.”

She looked up at him. He shrugged.

“I saw the look on your face. You weren’t going to ask, so I answered for you.”

Knocking her head against his shoulder, Emma just smiled. A few paces ahead of them, Graham spun around over the old nails and boards to yell back, “Hurry, slowpokes. I’m older than both of you and I’m still faster.”

Killian’s chuckle was hearty. “Oi, mate, we’ll move as fast as we please.”

Emma joined in their gaiety because these were her boys and they were getting along, despite any precautions or issues Killian, she knew, had the night before. It might’ve been all for show, putting aside their differences and disagreements for her sake, but it nearly seemed genuine. Graham didn’t joke that way with people he wasn’t comfortable around and the last person besides her she’d heard Killian guffaw like that for was Robin.

She wondered offhandedly how they’ll act around her child.

_Huh_.

And then she realized this was the first time a thought like that, a thought of a future with this child and not just a bump on her body, has ever crossed her mind. She knew from the start that, in a couple month ( _three or four months’ time by now, Christ_ ), she would be in charge of all the decisions for another human. A small one, at that, with no idea what the world might throw at them.

_Now that’s scary._

Her boys quickly rid her of those types of thoughts, joining together to conspire and commandeer a rowboat for the afternoon. The three of them rowed out of the harbor and floated around in the mild open waters for god knows how long. They pushed off the moors shortly after noon and stayed until the sun had nearly set.

It was pleasant. It was fun. It was exactly what she needed.

_And kind of symbolic_.

More and more, Emma found situations like that these days. Symbolism was in everything. It might have been the remnants of her English class flaring up every so often. Her old life, her childhood in the form of Graham, back against the bow of the boat, arms splayed out on the sides, joking with her new life, the future untold, in the form of Killian lounging at her side. They were both shirtless, taking in the summer sun’s rays, and she was in her bathing suit.

_Killian._ Her inner monologue settled her argument with herself last night. _Definitely Killian._

In a different life, she was sure she’d be swooning over the situation: two attractive men half-naked in a rowboat in the middle of the harbor. Any girl would love it, would dream about a moment like this.

But she wasn’t any girl. Not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 8 more chapters. We're getting to the good stuff.  
> I'm trying to post this all as fast as I can so I can post a one shot in this universe, but I'm going through and editing what I have first. Or maybe I'll post it before this is done? Tell me what you think.  
> As always, feel free to leave a word. They always make me smile. Until next time :)


	21. Chapter 21

Killian’s last day in Storybrooke was quite eventful.

They woke to the clashing of clean dishes going in cabinets, thanks to Mary Margaret. Emma opened her eyes to sunlight harshly streaming over her body. She was on the couch in the living room, Killian asleep just below her on the floor and Graham sprawled out on the chair nearby. She barely remembered how she ended up here. Last she knew, the three of them were watching the Bourne movies.

_Guess we fell asleep._

It wasn’t long afterwards that the noise, still unapologetically loud, caused the boys to stir. When they roused, Graham stood quickly and made his excuses, _My mom’s gonna be worried sick_ , kissed Emma and her mother’s cheeks and patted Killian on the back before leaving.

After Graham’s departure, Emma finally levered herself off the couch and into a counter stool, watching her mother stare down the door.

“It was nice to see him again,” she said almost wistfully.

Killian agreed, adding “’S a cool guy” as he took the seat next to Emma. Like most mornings, they were slow to get going, casually talking over waffles and cleaning up the dishes. It wasn’t until Mary Margaret reminded Emma of an OB/GYN appointment later that day that they kicked into gear.

“Oh shit,” she mumbled. Mary Margaret glared at her. “Shoot. Oh shoot. I forgot.”

“I’m not surprised,” her mother commented. Emma glared at her until she explained, “You’ve got other things on your mind, I’m sure. Pregnancy is never conducive to memory.”

Groaning, Emma rolled her neck to face Killian. He was drying off a plate, pretending to be a wallflower of their conversation. “I totally meant to tell you about it.”

“Worry not,” he assured her.

“I’ve got to go to this,” she continued, “but it shouldn’t take that long, I’ll meet you in town.”

“I can drive you there,” he said quietly.

Both Emma and Mary Margaret stared at him. “Excuse me?” Emma finally said.

“With you,” Killian clarified. “I mean, I can’t drive, but I’ll go with you and then wander around.” He scratched his ear, his nerves getting the better of him. “Or walk, however you’re getting there. I’ll go with you and I’ll sit out on the curb and wait for you.”

“Killian, you’re not a puppy. I’m not going to leave you outside,” Emma chided him. She rolled her eyes started up the stairs to change into clean clothes. “Why don’t you just go down to the harbor and I’ll meet you there when I’m done at the doctor’s?”

“Emma,” he said. It wasn’t much, just her name, but it had her stopping halfway up the steps and turning to face him at the bottom. “Just let me go there with you. I’ll find my way back in due time.”

She was hesitant to say the least. He wasn’t her boyfriend, wasn’t the father of this child, was only just around because…well, that wasn’t a door she wanted to open right now.

“Promise not to come in the office?” she asked.

“Only if it doesn’t rain,” he reasoned.

“Fine.” It was a simple enough agreement. She continued upstairs without another word.

That whole experience wasn’t something she wanted to put him through, nor is it something he should willingly want to do. Visiting the OB/GYN was something of a special experience, Emma thought, saved for parents-to-be during the months of preparation. But it was their last day together and he wanted to spend as much of it just as that: together.

The fact that he wanted to be with her, no matter what she was doing, spun the wheels in her head faster and faster the more she thought about it.

_Don’t overthink, don’t overthink._

0000

Air conditioning blew at her face when she opened the door to the doctor’s. The receptionist told her Mulan had had some unforeseen emergency come up, so her assistant Aurora would be helping her out today.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Emma told the receptionist. She was willing to do whatever just to get her in and out of this appointment and back to Killian.

But when Aurora called her name and brought her back to a room, Emma wished that Mulan was back.

 _She’s judging me so hard_ , Emma thought.

“We haven’t had a patient this young since Ashley,” the assistant innocently said as she pressed the buttons on the ultrasound machine, turning it off after assuring her everything was fine.

Emma was surprised the parallel hadn’t been made sooner, especially in as small a town as Storybrooke. Ashley was in Graham’s year, had gotten pregnant on homecoming her senior year and managed not to fuck up little Lexi in the two years since she was born. But she hadn’t been able to leave town, lived in an apartment not far from her parents’ with her boyfriend and daughter. She worked at the local inn as a maid while Sean worked at the cannery for his father. Ashley had so much potential, had been accepted to the country’s best dance schools and even received an offer from the New York Ballet, all just dreams she had to give up now because of little Lexi.

That was not the life she wanted. However, it was shortly becoming reality she just had to deal with.

“Do you know what you’re having?” Aurora interrupted her thoughts.

“Excuse me?”

“The sex of your baby.” She searched the folder, flipping back and forth between pages. “Mulan hasn’t made a note. Has no one told you yet?”

“No.”

“Huh. You’re past the halfway point,” she muttered to herself. Aurora looked back up at her. “You could’ve found out a while ago.”

Emma shrugged and pulled her shirt back down. “I don’t really want to.”

“Don’t you think you’ve already had enough surprises?”

It wasn’t the words themselves that made Emma grimaces, but the tone they were uttered: judgmental and nearly pitying. It nearly sent her over the edge. This woman didn’t know her.

That was why she had no issue with the venom in her voice when she told Aurora, “One more won’t hurt.”

0000

Contemplation. The drive back home, the walk down to the harbor, both filled with thoughts swirling in Emma’s head. Killian had apparently gotten bored and walked from the doctor’s to who knows where. She’d figured he would – he is a little bit like a puppy in that respect, has the attention span of one – but finding him was another issue.

“Oh, good, you’re not napping.” She heard his voice to her left and couldn’t help but smile. _Looks like the search is over._

“Ha ha,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. “You’re soooo funny.”

His grin was goofy as he caught up to her. “What’d the doctor say?”

“Healthy, the both of us,” Emma informed him. His arm laid across her shoulders and pulled her body into him. “Judged me a little for not finding out the gender, but meh.”

Killian was a little taken aback. “You’ve not found out what you’re having yet?”

Emma shook her head. “Don’t you think I would’ve told you already?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “You tell me a lot, but I assumed there’d to be some things you keep to yourself.”

It was a fair point. She should keep more secrets, _did_ keep a lot of secrets, until they met. Now, it just seemed natural to share her life with him.

_That can’t be good._

“You’re going to find out anyways, and you’re invested in this just as much as I am,” Emma said, skipping over the inner conflict rattling about in her head. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t tell you everything. Open book right?”

There was a moment where his eyes flicked away from hers, almost like he was guilty. It confused her, but then he was saying, “That you are,” and both the moment and look is gone.

Threading her arm through his, they silently made their way down to the docks. It was nice. Boats bobbed about, gently knocking into the planks of the moorings. The blue water met the blue sky met the blue in his eyes. _Blue is rapidly becoming my favorite color._

“Why don’t you want to know?” he asks softly.

Emma laid her head on his shoulder when she shrugged. “I don’t want to be disappointed.”

“Do you have a preference?”

She shrugged again. “I’m kinda leaning toward a boy.”

“A son?”

“Yeah.” It something she hadn’t said aloud, or even really thought, but once it left her mouth and entered the world, she knew it was how she felt. “I don’t know. I don’t want a girl to have me as her role model. I’d be afraid I’m not the best person to base their life choices off of. I mean,” she gestured to her stomach, “look where I am.” Emma shook her head sadly. “I wouldn’t want to screw her up.”

“Your child will be nothing less than amazing, Emma.” He stopped them, turning her by her shoulders until she looked him in the eyes. “Because you are nothing less than the same.”

It was a confidence booster, to be sure, seeing the undeniable truth he felt reflected in his eyes, but it didn’t change her opinion in the slightest. Killian must have seen it in her expression because he looked away and continued their walk to the water, changing the subject. “You’ve got a name in mind?”

“Not quite yet,” she said, thankful for the distraction. “I think I’d want to make his middle name David though.”

“For your father?”

“No, for the guy I had a crush on in high school.” The sarcasm in her voice was obvious, her words slowing and elongating it for the sake of the joke. Then she hit the elbow her arm was wrapped around. “Yes, for my father.”

Killian humped. They were quiet for a little longer, just admiring the views in their waning hours together, before he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I bet you have a girl.”

Emma heard the smirk in his challenge. “Prepare to lose.”

0000

The night before Emma drove Killian to the airport proved to be the most important of all. Two life-changing things happened, leaving Emma’s cheeks hurting from smiling so much as she went to bed.

Just as they sat down for their last meal together, the loft desktop binged with a new email notification. Emma stood from the table, simultaneously laughing at the slapstick her father and Killian were performing and shoving a piece of cucumber in her mouth, to turn the sound off, but the subject of the email caught her eye, so she took a seat at the desk and clicked on it.

_Don’t overthink, don’t overthink._

_Don’t hope._

“Emma, honey, we’re eating,” her mother called for her. “Come to the table.”

But she was too busy reading the email from the University Senate. Too busy skimming the words on the screen, her eyes lingering on the likes of _injustice_ and _discrimination, apologies_ and _council._ Her breathing sped up unconsciously, her face getting closer and closer to the screen, trying to inhabit the screen that was giving her _a second chance._

“I’ve got a hearing,” she said quietly.

“You’re not hard of hearing, love,” Killian rebuked her. “Don’t try and pull that wool over your parents’ eyes.”

“No,” she corrected him with a laugh. It bubbled up and overflowed from her body, alerting the rest of the house to her happiness. Emma muted the sound on the computer and stood up. “I’ve got a hearing. For school. They want to hear me out and hopefully reinstate me as a full-time student come August.”

Everyone else stopped moving and looked at her. After the show she put on at her last hearing, she swore she’d be living at home next semester, taking care of the baby at the expense of her parents in her childhood bedroom, probably while working at the local diner or something. But she could change that, _would_ change that at this new hearing.

 _A second chance._  

Killian was the first to react. It wasn’t much at first, but he smirked at her laughter and soon joined her. Her mother moved next, placing the serving bowl of spaghetti she was carrying on the table, and rushed to hug her daughter.

“That’s excellent news, Emma!” her father boomed. He slapped Killian on the shoulder, Emma’s victory becoming a celebration, a family affair. “Do you have any details?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, still stunned by the development. “It’s late next week. Thursday morning at 10.”

Mary Margaret was still by her side when she nodded and said, “We can drive down.”

“Mom, you don’t have to come,” Emma replied, “I can go by myself.”

“Swan, maybe it’s best your mother goes with you,” Killian suggested. The rueful look she sent him had his lips tilting up at the corner. “Remember what happened when you went alone last?”

She begrudgingly accedes: “Fair point.”

“Ohhh, but it doesn’t matter, this is still so exciting!” her mother shouted. “Come on, let’s eat. Food’s always appropriate for all good things, especially when it’s hot.”

Laughter was infectious and never-ending at the dinner table. They passed it around like it was another plate with food on it, to be shared and fawned over in light of the mood.

There were times lately that Emma considered the moment the happiest in her life so far. This meal – with her parents and Killian surrounding her, good food and a growing child in her stomach, in the wake of such wonderful news – quickly surpassed all of them for the top spot.

After dinner, Emma and David took seats alongside the other on the couch, Killian and Mary Margaret finishing up the dishes.

“So what’s up?” he asked her, faking casualness.

She gave him a side eye. “Not much. What’s up with you?

“I mean what’s up with _you_?”

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

He chuckled. “You’re a smart kid, princess. Read between the lines and know that’s not what I meant.”

Emma shifted in her seat. “I don’t think I do.” But her voice was softer, a little less sure of herself, because she knew exactly what her father was hinting at.

David leaned in closer to her and shushed his voice. “Emma, princess, I love you, I do, but you’ve never so much as invited a class group home to work on a project. This guy’s spent an entire week at home with us and I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy since…” he struggled to think of a time, but he floundered like she knew he would. “I honestly don’t know. So I’ll ask you again: what’s up?”

“Nothing, Dad,” she said, stronger and more sure of herself. _Although I’m not actually sure how sure I am._ “Really. I just…” There was no real way to encompass what was up, so she just told him what she knew. “I just didn’t want Killian to go home quite yet. I’m used to him being around now.”

Her father’s eyebrows raised. “Is that so?”

She nodded and began playing with her hands, twisting her fingers around each other, letting them skim across the skin at her stomach.

“Well then,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I feel a little bit better about this then.”

“About what?” This conversation kept getting stranger and stranger. Her father was susceptible to bouts of what she frankly viewed as ineptitude, but this one was new. Emma still had no inkling what even the topic of this discussion was and, by this time normally, she would. She was formerly flopped against the back cushion of the couch, but this uncertainty has her scrounging around and scrambling to sit up properly and face him. “About him staying? Dad, you couldn’t have stopped that regardless. And I don’t see why you’re trying to see what’s up with it now.”

“Not him staying here, Emma,” he expressed calmly. Shifting about in his seat, David reached under his butt and removed a piece of paper from his back pocket. “About this.”

Cautiously, she took the offered paper from his hand and read it to herself.

_Boston Logan International (BOS) to London Heathrow (LHR)_

“Dad,” she breathed. “What is this?”

“Adventure.”

Another quiet moment passed.

“You’re coming to mine,” Killian enlightened her from the kitchen. Emma twisted around to see both him and her mother standing on the precipice of the rooms. “Just for a week.”

“We thought it’d be nice for you to get away before you can’t really get away anymore,” Mary Margaret added.

It was silent again until Emma broke it with her puzzled “I’m sorry, what?”

After placing a neatly folded towel on the counter, Killian strolled over to the opposite side of the couch and sat next to her. Taking her hand and resting theirs together on his knee, he said, “You invited me to your home, now I’m inviting you to mine.” His one eye winked. “Just like I promised.”

“But what about,” she began, her eyes flitting between him and her parents behind her. “I can’t go like this. I’m pregnant.”

“You’ll have to double check with Mulan,” Mary Margaret said, “but you should theoretically be able to fly until late July.” She, too, made her way to the couch, but instead sat on the arm, balancing herself with the help of her husband’s shoulder. “It’ll be a little more uncomfortable than normal, but I think it’ll be worth it.”

“Really?” she posed skeptically.

David laughed, his hand reaching for his daughter’s knee and squeezing it for comfort. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to London?”

Her parents’ nodded in tandem.

Meeting Killian’s gaze, Emma practically screams, “I’m going to London!” Her first thought was Killian. Not anything specific, save that she wanted to share her joy with him. Her arms go wide and Killian filled them, hugging her the best he could, given the situation. Then she turned to her parents and opened her arms to them, too. “Thank you so much, guys.”

There was more laughter, even some tears shed between Mary Margaret and Emma. But the night’s climax, at least in Emma’s mind, was a conversation held in hushed tones while she was ‘distracted’ by her mother’s musings. David had pulled Killian into the kitchen doorframe and pointed at Killian. Speaking in what she was sure he thought was a whisper, Emma heard her father say, “If you hurt her, I will punch you in the face.”

She smiled when Killian caught her eye and answered. “Trust me, sir. I have a feeling she’ll beat you to it.”

0000

“I’m sorry I can’t be here for your hearing next week,” Killian apologized as they lay in her bed that night. As the week went on, the air mattress he had started his stay sleeping on lost air and it became more of a hassle than if they just shared a bed. Granted, he was a bit of a bed hog, but he also had her stomach to contend with, so, in the end, Emma figured it evened out.

“Don’t be,” she whispered into the darkness, “you haven’t been home in so long. I totally get it.” Her fingers traced shyly up his forearm. “I mean, it’s not like we’re going to be apart for _that_ long.”

“I know.” His fingers drummed against her arm before he booped her nose. “I’m quite excited,” he confessed giddily.

She nodded her agreement. “I’m just glad we got to hang out like this.”

“As am I.” He sighed, his fingers returning to her arm to draw unnoticeable pictures atop her skin. “Your parents are incredibly charming, and Storybrooke is so quaint.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow, it’s not like you have to sweeten me up so you can stay here,” she giggled nervously. “You don’t have to compliment it if you don’t like it.”

“I’m completely serious. Cross my heart.” He propped himself up so he could look directly at her. “Emma, this week has singlehandedly been one of the best in my life. It’s nice to be away from school and city. Plus, it’s been so long since I’ve felt like I’ve had a family.”

“Does your brother not count?”

He chuckled softly as he resumed his position, his face inches away from hers. “He’s a prick, but he’s nothing compared to your parents. You’ll see. Your mother’s cooking or your father’s laughter. Your mother’s concern or your father’s protection.” Even in the dark, Emma could see his eyes slide shut. He breathed deeply. “Your parents took me in and were so kind to me.” His eyes opened again, blue meeting green in a way that still made her breathless. “I’m going to miss them second only to you.”

It was her sniffing that made Emma realize she had gotten emotional. Not the itching of tears waiting to fall or the fact that her ‘friend’ (s _till have no idea what’s going on here)_ said he was going to miss her parents. Nope, her sniffing away sobs.

_Stupid hormones._

“You stupid boxer, hitting me with all the feels.”

He snickered again and pulled her closer, letting the shakes of his body rock hers. Killian pressed his lips to her forehead, then settled down into the mattress. She was nearly asleep when she heard him mutter something about her being a pirate and stealing his heart. It sent her heart into overdrive, something not favorable to sleeping with a very attractive guy laying right next to you.

_Don’t overthink, don’t overthink._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP, and by road trip, I mean getting on a plane and crossing the ocean. But it's the same general outcome, right?  
> As always, feel free to leave a word. Until next time :)


	22. Chapter 22

_I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU._

_IKR?!_ Emma texted back. _My mom and I are on our way back now._

 _Wanna meet for lunch or something?_ Ruby asked. _You can come see the new digs_ _J_

Emma chuckled to herself. _Lemme see what happens on campus. Then we’ll talk._

“Is that Killian?” her mother asked from the driver’s seat.

“No, it’s Ruby,” she replied. “She just moved into a house up here and she wanted to get some lunch.”

“We’ll see what happens at this hearing.”

Emma settled back into the passenger seat, her one leg resting beneath the rest of her. “That’s what I said.”

They were about a half hour from campus, had been in the car for far longer than Emma wanted to be, but it was all for a good and hopefully worthy cause. In the days since receiving that fateful email, she’d tried to prepare as much as she could, but there really wasn’t anything to do. She’d reread the paperwork, shared them with her mother in case she could make heads or tails of the legalese it all used. She’d called the university to see if there was anything else she could do, but they’d said to show up, business casual, to the same room she’d had her first hearing in.

To say she was nervous was a grand understatement.

But when she finally faced those double doors of doom again, this time with her mother by her side, she was a little more confident in the outcome.

It passed much quicker than she anticipated. She faced the council again, this time managing to rein in any wayward outbursts. She wasn’t the picture of an ideal listener, but when they asked for her side of the story, she stood at the same podium and calmly stated it as unbiased as possible. _So what if I’m biased? It’s my story._ She didn’t necessarily point accusatory fingers, but she definitely played the blame game.

It was when the doors opened again 45 minutes after her entrance and Neal shuffled in that she nearly lost it. Her fists clenched at her sides and her spine went ramrod straight. Emma bit at her bottom lip, retaining any comment that might’ve ( _will_ ) slip out when he spoke.

“Now, we remember how this happened last time, Miss. Nolan,” one of the Senate members declared. “We don’t want a repeat of that, but we understand that you are angry with Mr. Cassidy. Do you feel like you can be in the same room with him and refrain from another outburst or would you like to be dismissed for his testimony?”

Emma thought for a moment. She didn’t know what he was going to say, but it almost certainly would be moronic. _Maybe it would be better if I left._

But then she glanced over at her mother, sitting where Mr. Gold and Dr. Hopper sat last time, and words Killian had texted her float to the forefront of her mind.

_Be strong. Be stubborn if necessary, but be strong._

“If I can sit with my mother until he’s done, I’d like to stay in the room,” she answered.

The head of the committee nodded. Emma walked off to join her mother, who immediately took her hand.

“Isn’t that your R.A.?” Emma nodded. “What’s he doing here?”

 _Shit._ She’d forgotten this part. She’d forgotten the small fact that she hadn’t told her parents about Neal.

“Yeah, um, about that…” She hesitated. She contemplated lying, weighing the disappointing look her mother would fix her with, but then decided for the truth. “Neal’s the father.”

The look on her mother’s face had her second guessing her decision to stay in the courtroom.

“The…” Mary Margaret’s mouth hung there, gaping at the situation. “Emma, are you telling me you had sex with your R.A.?”

“No, I’m a pregnant virgin,” she snapped quietly with a roll of her eyes. “Yes, how do you think I ended up in this situation?”

After that, both women were quiet. As they listened to Neal talk, recount his side of the story to the committee, who, in turn, asked him questions, Emma slipped a sweaty hand into her mother’s grasp.

_How old were you at the time of the sexual encounter? How old was Miss. Nolan? Did you know? Was it consensual? Was she intoxicated? Did she tell you of the pregnancy?_

Mary Margaret intermittently squeezed her daughter’s hand and, every once in a while, whispered a question into her shoulder. The one that nearly broke her was “Emma, did he rape you?” It was more hushed than anything her mother had asked so far.

She knew the definition, knew the horror stories, but didn’t know the answer.

“I honestly don’t know, Mom.”

When his part was done, the council dismissed him with the specific instructions not to talk to Emma, not even to contact her unless contacted first, something she would always be grateful for. Once he was gone, Emma approached the bench, ready to receive her sentencing.

But her mother beat her to the stand.

“Hi there,” she said, nice and kind. “Mary Margaret Nolan. I’m Emma’s mother, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

The man sitting in the head seat, different from the last time, acknowledged her “Good afternoon, Mrs. Nolan,” to which she confidently murmured the same.

“I don’t really know how this committee handles this sort of thing,” Mary Margaret disclosed, “or what the protocol is for this sort of situation, but I want you to know...”

And in that moment, Emma didn’t recognize the woman standing at the bench. Gone was her sweet, kind-hearted elementary school teacher mother. The woman before her had never kissed a booboo, never made a s’more, never picked up a toddler to soothe her. This woman was ice and stone, completely firm in her beliefs no matter what it would cost her.

This woman was Superwoman.

“My husband and I are prepared to file suit for discrimination. The previous decision not only favors one side more than the other, but it’s wrong.” She didn’t take her eyes off the committee members as she gestured to Emma on the side of the room. “My daughter worked long and hard to get into this university. It’s her dream school and she’s worked her ass off while here, if you pardon my language. Surely some of you must have children. What you do if you were in my shoes? What extent wouldn’t you go to in order to help them live their biggest dreams?” Sighing, Mary Margaret finally turned her gaze to her daughter, her expression softening. _There she is._ “My Emma works hard. She wants to be here. So, while I respect the decision you make today, be prepared for what comes afterwards.” She nodded politely to the council members and thanked them before returning to her seat.

“Mom,” she whispered, “what was that?”

Taking her hand again, Mary Margaret gave her a nervous smile. “I’m not quite sure. It just needed to be said.” She glanced down at their entwined hands. “My goodness, I’m shaking.”

Emma was about to make a comment, gently laugh it off, when she heard her name. With a final squeeze of her mother’s hand, Emma took her stand.

“Miss. Nolan,” the leader said somewhat forbodingly, “after reviewing your case, we hope that you will accept your positon as full time student come fall semester. You won’t be able to live on campus, but you should be able to find some housing still available in the area.”

Her eyes slid shut. A weight lifted off her chest and she could _breath._ “Thank you so much.”

The woman who didn’t defend her last time cleared her throat. “Remember, you need to be registered for 12 credits to be considered a full time student.”

Internally, Emma knew the comment was a bit of a dig. Not an intentional one. The woman might have been suggesting she take a break from her course load once the baby came, but it still rubbed her the wrong way. This woman hadn’t done anything to help her, barely knew her name, but there she was, telling her in no uncertain terms that her dreams and ambitions should be second to her role as a mother.

Maybe she was just being too sensitive. But still.

She was back in.

0000

“So I know it’s not much, Mrs. Nolan, but I haven’t gotten around to going grocery shopping yet.”

Mary Margaret tutted her and fell into mothering mode. “Don’t worry, Ruby. Do you have a car? Do you want me to take you while I’m here?”

Ruby shook her head politely as she finished making the boxed macaroni and cheese. “No, that’s Belle’s car in the driveway. She just had to go in to work for a little bit today, so we’re going tomorrow.” She joined Emma and her mother at the clustered table, three bowls of noodles in hand.

Emma thanked Ruby, accepting the bowl and feeling comforted by the warmth it sent through her fingertips. “How’ve you been?”

“Worried sick for you, but now that you’re official back in action, I couldn’t be happier!” she exclaimed. She handed Emma’s mother her bowl and slid her own onto the table. “How’d it go anyway? What happened?”

Mary Margaret related the story, mostly because Emma hardly remembered anything except for the huge relief she felt when they’d shared their verdict. The macaroni and the relief quieted the rumbling in her stomach.

“Well, what are you going to do?” Ruby asked, her noodles still untouched.

Emma and her mother looked to each other. “I mean, I’m definitely coming back,” Emma said slowly. “I’ll have a week or two here to get ready, get into the swing of classes, before the baby comes.”

“No, I mean where are you going to live?”

Emma shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“Because you can live here with us,” Ruby suggested. She threw her hand out toward a room they hadn’t seen when Ruby haphazardly gave them a tour. “We have an extra room we were just going to rent out, but you and the kid can stay here.”

“No,” Emma swiftly denied. “Ruby, I can’t do that to you two.”

“Why not? It’ll just be like last year, except with a real kitchen and real beds and our own bathroom.”

“And a screaming baby.” Emma shook her head and chuckled away the awkwardness within the offer. “Look, Rubes, it’s so nice of you to offer, but you and Belle are still normal college kids who stay up till four writing papers and go out partying on the weekends-”

“And you can be too. You should be too.” Reaching across the table, Ruby grabbed Emma’s hand and smiled. “If you live here with us, then someone’s almost always bound to be here. We can babysit when you go to class and we’ll get through this together.”

And before she knew it, Emma was crying again, trying to wipe away the tears without anyone noticing they were there in the first place.

“I think maybe we should talk it over with Mr. Nolan,” her mother advised, hugging her daughter close and comforting her with pressure on her shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Emma sniffed.

As they consumed their meager meal, the three of them made polite small talk. Mary Margaret soon excused herself for the bathroom. The moment she disappeared, Ruby leaned across the table and slapped Emma’s arm. “I don’t care what your mom says, you’re living here.”

“But-”

“Emma, you are one of the most stubborn people I know, but I am the most stubborn.” She pointed directly at her, her finger staring down the slope of Emma’s nose. “You’re living here. Belle and I will help you out. You helped me through the whole ordeal with Peter. It’s only fair I do the same for you.”

“But those aren’t even close to the same level.”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re friends. Best friends. I’m here for you, will be here for you, just like you’re here for me.” Ruby grinned even wider and Emma couldn’t even open her mouth to begin expressing her gratitude. But she didn’t need to, for Ruby quickly spoke again, looking away to her fingernails nervously. “Not to change the subject, but to change the subject, how’s Hook?”

Emma transformed from heart warmed to stone-cold. “Oh shit.” Emma whipped out her phone. “I haven’t even told him yet.”

Hearing noises from the bathroom, Ruby gestured to a bedroom. “Go in there and skype him.” Emma began to protest, but Ruby wouldn’t have it. “I’ll distract your mother. Go. Make it quick.”

As fast as she could, Emma scurried to bedroom, realizing it was Ruby’s from the familiar posters on the walls, and pressed the buttons on her phone until her own face looked back at her. The program gave her little time to clean herself up, mascara leaving marks under her eyes. She quickly licked her finger to wipe them away, but her face was replaced by Killian’s picture too soon.

“Swan, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she reassured him, her face breaking into a grin. “Sorry, I just wanted to see your face when I told you you’re stuck with me another year.”

“I could never be stuck with you, you’re a wonder.”

“You won’t be saying that when I’m asking you to babysit instead of go out with your mates.”

He knocked his hand against his head, a V8 commercial come to life. “The hearing! My god, Emma, how’d it go?”

She laughed. “I’m trying to tell you.” She paused to let the tension build. “I’m coming back full time in the fall.”

“That’s bloody brilliant, Swan!” He yelled, the connection on campus clear for the first time ever. “Absolutely wonderful!”

“I know, I know.” She sensed the lull in the conversation between her mother and friend in the other room. “Listen, I’m at Ruby’s right now with my mom. I’ve gotta go, but I just wanted to tell you face to face.”

“Thanks so much, love. It’s great news.”

“I know…I’ll talk to you later?”

“Indeed…And I’ll see you soon?”

“Sooner than you think,” she winked. “See ya.”

“Goodbye, Swan.”

0000

Back at home, weights of untold sizes lifted off Emma’s shoulders. She was so excited, desiring to share the news with everyone she knew, that she called Graham from the car to tell him.

“Of course they’d let you back, Ems!” He shouted into the phone. “Let’s celebrate. Granny’s when you get back?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll have Mom drop me off.”

And she did, pulling to the side of Main Street and watching Graham sweep into Emma’s arms outside the diner. Still at her side, Graham bowed to wave into the car at her mother before she drove off. When the station wagon disappeared around the corner, Graham gripped her shoulders and shook them a bit.

“I am so proud of you, you little monster.” He pulled her into him again, ruffled her hair, and nudged her toward food. “This is a momentous occasion.”

Laughing all the way in, Emma jabbed at his sides, poking him until both were breathless in a booth.

“Is my reacceptance into school a momentous enough occasion for you to pay for my meal?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes and putting on her pouty lips.

Graham cocked his head to the side. With a look that asked _really?_ , he said, “Emma, since the day I had an extra cent, I’ve been paying for your meals. Just because you’re a real college girl now doesn’t make it any different.”

Emma giggled. “Good. Just making sure.”

A waitress hurried up to them, blonde hair messily strewn in a bun. She grabbed a pad from her apron pocket and, with a huff, greeted them. She brushed away stray hairs from her face with pen in her hand. “What can I get for y’all?”

Graham nodded to Emma, silently telling her to go first. “Can I get some banana nut pancakes, some hashbrowns, and two glasses of lemonade?” The girl scribbled it down on her notepad and then looked up at Graham.

“Just a coffee, black, and some onion rings, please.”

The girl nodded. With a hurried grin of forced politeness, she returned to the kitchen with their order.

“You should speak with her,” Graham said, leaning across the table.

Emma raised her brow. _Inner Killian strikes again._ “Who? The waitress?”

He nodded. “Don’t you remember her?” After briefly watching the girl move about the restaurant, Emma shook her head. “That’s Ashley.”

“Ashley Ashley?”

Graham nodded again. Emma looked over her shoulder and watched Ashley’s hair fall from its perch as she glided from table to table. She paused long enough at the counter to start making faces behind it, giggles echoing from both her and the area in which she directs her expressions.

“Granny and the other waitresses watch Lexi when Sean can’t,” Graham informed her.

“And how do you know that and I don’t?”

He shrugged. “I’m nice and actually talk to the townsfolk.”

Emma scoffed at his use of the word ‘townsfolk.’ Ashley sidled up to the edge of the table with their drinks and nearly escaped without a word before Emma stopped her by saying, “Wait!”

Slowly, Ashley turned around, a pained smile on her face. “What can I help you with?” she asked with a faux politeness.

“You’re Ashley Boyd, right?” Ashley nodded. Emma stuck out her hand. “I’m Emma Nolan.”

Hesitantly, Ashley shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.” She glanced over her shoulder back toward the kitchen. “Look, I’m kinda swamped, so I gotta-”

“I was hoping you could,” Emma considered Graham as if he was hiding the word she wanted. She settled on struggling out of the booth instead and standing in front of the waitress, her ever-growing stomach between them. Ashley’s eyes shot down and back up to Emma’s face. “I was hoping you could help me out. Talk me through a couple things.”

Again, Ashley’s eyes moved to her stomach, then back to the kitchen. Then she sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Y’all don’t mind if I don’t get your food straight away?” Emma shook her head and without even looking knew Graham’s doing the same. Ashley nodded once. “Okay. Go ahead and sit back down. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Bobbing her head up and down, Emma slid back into the booth. Graham reached over the table and clasped her hand in a friendly manner. “It’s all for the best, Ems.”

“Yeah,” she resigned. “I know.”

They didn’t speak again until Ashley returned not too long afterward, this time with a toddler on her hip. A little girl, hair falling gracefully over her shoulders as she leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder.

“Lexi, this is Ms. Emma and Mr. Graham,” she told the little girl, a bounce in her voice. “Can you say hi to them?”

The girl didn’t speak, but she did wave, her little hand reaching in front of her and grabbing her welcome. Graham sent her a small wave back and Emma smiled at her, nervous. Carefully, Ashley sat next to Emma, Lexi in her lap.

“I’ve got a little playpen for her set up behind the counter,” Ashley explained. “It’s a bit crowded back there, especially around lunch, but Granny and the girls watch her and it’s only every couple of days.”

Emma nodded, because _what else is she supposed to do?_ Ashley was smiling down at her little girl and it almost felt like she was intruding on a private moment.

A private moment that was interrupted when Graham cleared his throat, phone in hand.

“I hate to order and run, but Mum needs me home,” he said apologetically. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw a couple bills on the table. “What the old woman doesn’t take is yours, Ash. And not,” he stopped her protestation before it began, “out of charity. You deserve it. Consider it a repayment from all those times I’ve been an ass.”

Ashley glanced down at the bills. “I think you’re going to need more than that then, Humbert.”

The three of them share a laughed as Graham departed with a wink for Emma, a pat on the shoulder for Ashley, and a soft kiss on the head for Lexi.

“So,” Ashley started.

“Yeah.” Emma didn’t quite know what she wanted to know, and she told the other woman as much.

“I know,” Ashley sympathetically agreed. She searched Emma over. “It’s pretty overwhelming, all of it, right?”

“Understatement of the century.”

Lexi leaned into her mother’s chest, a thumb in her mouth. Her other hand hovered over Ashley’s bicep as the silence stretched on.

“It’s gonna be tough,” Ashley sighed. “The last month and a half sucks the worse because you just feel so huge and don’t want to do anything but you have to. You just need to keep thinking about how far you’ve made it.” She shrugged, nosing into Lexi’s hair. “It gets easier.”

“That’s what I keep hearing.”

“Are you scared?”

Emma nodded. “Kids aren’t really my forte.”

“They weren’t mine either,” Ashley commented. “But you can pick it up real quick. Especially at four in the morning when she won’t stop screaming.”

Lexi shifted again, the hand she wasn’t suckling on moving toward Emma’s stomach, and whined.

“C’mon Lex. Use your words.”

The thumb popped out of her mouth. “Mama belly?” she mumbled.

Ashley’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and then relaxed. Focusing on Emma, she asked, “I think she wants to feel your stomach. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“You can totally say no,” Ashley assured her. “I hated people touching my stomach when I was pregnant. It always reminded me I looked like a whale.”

Emma chuckled. “No, it’s fine. Well, I’m fine with her doing it.”

Lifting her into the space between her and Emma, Ashley stood Lexi up. The child’s legs were wobbly and unsteady, her balance off kilter, but her mother watched her from behind and Emma had a hand on her in the front. Lexi’s little hand softly came down on her stomach, rubbed it up and down like one might a dog or a cat, Emma’s shirt moving with it.

_Let’s try this whole parent thing._

“Do you know what’s in here?” Emma asked of Lexi. Her thumb made its way back into her mouth, so the toddler was quiet when she shook her head. “There’s a baby in there. Just like you were in your mommy’s tummy.”

Lexi looked at her mother as if for confirmation and Ashley gave her an encouraging nod. Her face bright, Lexi smiled when she turned back to Emma. _Not too shabby._

“So what are you up to before the baby comes?” Ashley inquired as Lexi flopped down on the booth and stared at Emma’s stomach.

 _Good ol’ girl talk. I can do that easy._ “I’m actually heading to London in a couple days to visit a friend,” Emma said, blush coloring her cheeks.

“Really?” Ashley exclaimed in disbelief. “That sounds amazing!”

And from there, it was normal. It was one of the rapidly decreasingly-occurring normal moments in her life. Going to Granny’s with Graham. Hanging out with Ruby. Talking shop with Ashley, at least until Granny yelled at her from the kitchen.

“Ashley sweetheart, I love you, but I ain’t paying you or watching your chubby-cheeked little angel to sit and gab! Get a move on!”

Smiling regretfully, Ashley stood up, hoisting Lexi on her hip. Emma surprised herself when she proposed, “I’ll watch her for a little while.” She was even a little disappointed when Ashley declined the offer, citing it was “some little girl’s nap time.”

“Lemme put her down and then I’ll get you your food.”

Emma shook her head. From her bag, she dug out her wallet and placed way too much cash on the table. “Don’t worry about it,” she comforted, “I’m not that hungry anymore. Thanks for the help.”

“Not at all,” Ashley said brightly. “I don’t see how. I would’ve eaten all day everyday if I could have.” She was backing up to the counter, Lexi’s face scrunching up in impending tantrum. It was funny to see the quick change in personality: one moment, she was a cheerful little girl and the next a wrathful storm on the horizon. “I’ve really gotta go, but you know where I am if you want to chat some more.”

Gratefully, Emma bid her farewell and left the diner. She might take her up on that offer. In no way did she feel absolutely sure of herself and her future. But right now, Emma was perfectly content in walking home and then taking a nap.

_Just because I’m not hungry doesn’t mean I’m not tired._

0000

“How are you doing?” Mulan asked, shutting the door behind her.

“Great,” Emma answered, extenuated by a yawn. Sheepishly, she apologized before adding, “So much better now that you’re back.”

The technician chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve been getting that a lot.”

Kicking her feet against the cabinets beneath her, Emma inquired, “Is everything okay now?”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine.” Mulan flipped through the sheets of paper on her clipboard, Emma’s file and results from her last appointment. “An old friend had a pipe burst in his house and he basically got stuck swimming in his basement. You seen that part in _Home Alone_?” She glanced up swiftly to see the flabbergasted look on Emma’s face and waved it away. “He’s fine, he just needed someone to help him move house for a little while.”

“Oh,” Emma quietly said. “I hope everything turns out all right for him.”

Mulan shrugged it off. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Setting the clipboard down, she smiled at Emma. “So let’s see how you guys are doing.”

Emma scooted back on the examination table. Mulan flicked the sonogram machine on, allowing the humming and beeping fill the room.

“I don’t think I actually need a sonogram today,” Emma said. “I’ve just got a question.”

Confused, Mulan began shutting the machine down. “How far are you now?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

“The countdown hasn’t started yet?” Mulan laughed, taking a seat on the stool and wheeling to the table. “Most of my other patients are more than aware of their looming due date by this point in time.”

“I’ve got other things to worry about,” Emma supplied. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. “I’m supposed to go to London in a week or so.”

A little taken aback, Mulan’s eyebrows rose. “That’s exciting.”

“I know,” she sighed. Relief settled in her bones. Mulan’s face gave nothing away, but so far she hadn’t dashed Emma’s Londontown dream. _Yet._ “I’m just a little freaked out about flying. Never really done it while pregnant.”

“Well, it’s different for everyone. Depends on each woman, but you should be fine for travel. You’re not staying months are you?”

“No, just a week. Little more, maybe ten days.”

“Yeah, you should be fine. Just know you might not feel well at some points, so take it easy.”

Her heart stopped. That was the entire point of her trip. One last hurrah before the baby. “What do you mean, take it easy? Like no sightseeing?”

“Maybe not the heavy duty stuff until you’ve been there a day,” Mulan reassured her. “The plane’s change in pressure does weird things to normal people. And know where the hospitals are in case of an emergency.”

Her excitement was tangible. It tasted suspiciously like hot chocolate on her tongue. Her lips spread wide in a smile. “Yes, of course.” She hopped down from the table and grabbed her bag. “Thanks so much, Mulan.”

“And one more thing?” The doctor’s voice halted her at the door.

“Yeah?”

“Have some fun, Emma.” Mulan’s face was comforting, kind, almost like a big sister. “Things are gonna get rough, but you’re still young. Live it up a little.” She pointed a stern finger at her. “But not too much. No sex, drugs, or rock and roll.”

Emma laughed fully. After a moment, she opened her arms for Mulan, wanting a hug. Mulan obliged. “I will,” she mumbles into her shoulder. “Thanks so much.”

“Say hi to your mom for me.”

Emma nodded her acknowledgment into Mulan’s shoulder before she left the office, significantly happier than she was last time.

_London, here I come._


	23. Chapter 23

Her room was messier than usual, with piles of clothes outside the closet and more piles of miscellaneous materials at the foot of her bed. This was how it usually looks when she packed for a trip, but now that she was doing this on her own, pregnant, in the middle of summer – well, it was a miracle that she could even see the carpet at all.

The tell-tale ringing of Skype reaching for its mark dinged in the background. She set this up, she knew it was coming, mostly due to the fact that she arranged it so he could calm her nerves, but it was still annoying. Her flight would leave tomorrow whether she was on it or not and, as of right now, there was no way she was going to be on it.

She’s bent down to throw yet another pair of pre-pregnancy jeans out of her face when the noise stopped.

“My my,” she heard him say. Only then did she realize her ass was in the frame. Quickly, she moved and sat in her desk chair. “What a sight to be greeted by.”

“Shut up, you stupidhead,” she mumbled back harshly.

His eyebrows raised and his jaw dropped. “That was supposed to be a compliment, Swan,” he quietly said. “But I can see it’s been taken the wrong way.”

Emma waved her hand, apologizing. “Packing’s got me in a twist or…something.” She blew some stray hairs out of her face. “I don’t know. I’m stressed out and my back hurts and I’m really excited to visit, don’t get me wrong, but it’s just so much work.”

He laughed. “At least you’re only packing for a week. Imagine having to move house for nine months out of the year.”

She winced at the thought. “Yeah, okay, you win.” She sighed heavily. “Sorry for the lacking insult.”

“Never happened.” His flippant attitude was something she missed now they were talking. “How’s Pudge doing?”

She stood from her chair and moved around until the computer screen was taken up almost entirely by her bulging stomach. “Making a statement.”

“Oh wow,” he mumbled. “And you’re sure you’re okay to visit?”

“Yes, Killian. So long as you know where the hospitals are, nothing can stop us from coming to see you.”

He smiled something goofy. “I like the sound of that.”

“What?”

“Us. You and Pudge, coming to see me.”

It was sweet he thought like that. “Calm down, Jones,” Emma said with a smile. Her heart wasn’t all too devoted to calming him down. She changed her tactic and the subject “So how’ve you been?”

“Well,” he exhaled. “Liam’s over the moon you’re visiting.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded. “He’s threatened to force me into his navy if I don’t offer my bed for you to sleep in.” Killian leaned further toward the screen, his face overtaking the picture. “Which I was going to insist anyways.”

She moaned and hid her face in her hands. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I won’t hear anything of it.” He pointed at her through the camera. “You’re pregnant, it was my idea you visit, and I do not want to join the navy like my stiff arse of a brother.” And then, smugly, he pointed to himself. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“We can share the bed,” Emma hesitantly suggested. “It’s not the weirdest thing in the world. We’ve done it before.”

“We have?”

“Yeah.” Maybe it was just her, but the feeling of them so close was nearly stifling when she thought about it (which she did way too often). “When you were here. You were up against my back in my bed and you smelled really good. Don’t you remember?”

His smirk had her wishing she could punch him through the computer screen. “Of course I do, love. Just making sure you did.”

She covered her face again, this time in embarrassment, and pretended to throw something at him. “Shut up.”

“Never.”

It was a charged silence, but then he sighed and changed the subject once more, back on to her. “Are you okay? Your texts seemed a bit urgent.”

Emma shook her head. “It’s nothing really. I just…” She struggled to formulate a coherent sentence expressing how she felt. “I’ve never really flown places before. I mean, Disney World once or twice when I was a kid, but this is different. I don’t really like the whole hurdling metal tube thing.”

Killian chuckled. “It’ll be fine. The weather’s supposed to be fine. Only time you could hit some turbulence is as you come in.” Terror must have appeared on her face because he quickly remedied his words, saying, “Don’t worry. I’ve done it thousands of times and lived to tell the tale.”

“But what if-”

“You will be fine. When does your flight leave?”

“Umm, 8 tomorrow night.”

“And you’ll get in roughly?”

“I don’t know.” She flipped through some papers on her desk confirming her flight and then counted the difference on her fingers. “8 in the morning?”

His brows furrowed and his face creased up and even across the ocean, he was making her smile. “I do believe you’re right.”

Shaking her head, Emma giggled. “Oh god, you’re reverting to your native tongue.”

He seemed stunned, recoiling, and said, “We speak the same language, Swan.”

“Yes, but in different tongues. And you, Mr. Jones, are becoming oh so British again.”

“Maybe you’ll like me better that way.”

Under her breath. “Like I could like you even more.” But he caught it and smirked. She blushed. “I gotta finish packing.”

“Indeed,” he agreed simply. “Sleep some tonight, and on the plane tomorrow, love. It’ll benefit us both.”

“I’m sure.” Emma felt a bit awkward because she didn’t want to say goodbye, but she knew she had to. _These bags won’t pack themselves._ “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Until then, Swan.”

They waved to each other before Killian signed off. Once the screen reverted to its normal image, Emma spun around on her chair to survey the safety hazard that was her room. She groaned and rubbed her hands across her face.

She was in for a long night.

0000

Everyone who’d warned her wasn’t kidding. Her mother, Mulan, even Ashley and Ruby, all told her the flight would be uncomfortable. And she’d been expecting a bit of discomfort, nothing that couldn’t be solved with a round or two of the aisles.

 _Lies._ She was pretty sure she’d spent six of the seven hours in the air standing up and pacing by the bathrooms, chatting with the flight attendants, and she knew it was going to be just as hellish on the way back.

The moment she rolled her suitcase out of customs and saw Killian waiting for her, it was all worth it. It hadn’t been long, she knew, and it wasn’t like they hadn’t spoken since she dropped him off at the airport back home, but seeing him in person was completely different. She could feel his arms around her and smelled the scent of sweat and leather she’d grown accustomed to.

His hair was longer, not by much, but even over the crowd of weary travelers and relieved loved ones, she could tell. His facial hair was a bit more unruly than it looked on Skype and, despite seeming much more relaxed, probably because this was his territory, his home turf, he was doing that thing he did when he was nervous. Not just the scratching behind the ear thing – she thought that was reserved more for embarrassment than nerves – but he was biting his bottom lip. She moved slower than she wanted to, her knees and legs dragging from fatigue. His attention was otherwise occupied by the board announcing flight arrivals and baggage carousel numbers, his hands slapping together to form a rhythm she couldn’t hear over the hum of the crowd.

But Killian still hadn’t seen her.

She could use this to her advantage.

When he finally turned in her direction, she’d hidden herself to his left behind a group of Japanese tourists. He was still biting his lip, standing on his toes to try and catch her in the ebb and flow of people. While he searched, she snuck up next to him, hoping all the noise covered the squeaks of her suitcase wheels and just stood there. Waited for him to notice her. He would, in due time. What had she to lose in waiting?

But then a moment or two passed and he glanced at the board again. She sidled closer to him. Still nothing. Finally, she cleared her throat.

“Sorry, do you know what time it is?”

His head whipped around and when their eyes met, he was beaming.

“You’re here,” as if her presence was completely unexpected.

Emma nodded. “Have been for about ten minutes.”

“Have you?” She nodded again, curled her lips to try and hide her smile. “I didn’t see you.”

“If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t believe it.” Jokingly, she gestured to her stomach. “Kinda hard to miss these days.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.” Now she grinned. He pulled her into a hug and amidst the pain and discomfort lingering in her body, everything was perfect in his arms. “Welcome to London.”

“Thanks.” He took her bag in one hand and her hand in the other. It was a feeling she wasn’t used to, per se, his hand surrounding hers, but it was comforting, knowing that even thousands of miles from home, she still had someone to rely on. He began to tug her toward the exit. “Where to now, oh mighty British tour guide?”

Killian chuckled. “Since it’s quite early, I thought we might stop off somewhere close by and grab some breakfast.”

“I’m always game for food.”

“I’m aware,” he said knowingly, glancing over at her with a glint in his eye. “And I know you’re probably tired and might wish to freshen up, so I thought I’d take you back to the flat and you could shower or whatever, take a nap, and we’d do something this afternoon. How’s that sound?”

“I’m sorry, I stopped listening after you mentioned food.”

He laughed again. From his pocket, he pulled out his wallet, manifested, and handed her a plastic card. “It’s an Oyster,” he explains at her confusion. Gesturing toward the exit of the airport, Killian directed her attention to a sign. “Like a subway card for the Tube. Don’t lose it, it’ll save your life.” He grinned and gently pushed her by the shoulder toward it. “We’ll get some food and take it easy until afternoon, yeah?”

“Awesome.” Emma replayed what he’s said mentally and gave him a side-eye. “And don’t think I don’t notice the Briticisms you use.”

He shook his head. Licking his lips, he opened his mouth and emitted “I have no idea what you mean” in  the worst American accent to ever fall on her ears.

Laughing, Emma threatened him with “Don’t do that ever again.”

Again, he tried his tongue. “Do what?”

She giggled as they boarded the train. “I will get right back on a plane home if you do it again.”

He pulled her close as they minded the gap and spoke into her hair, “You wouldn’t dream of it.”

0000

There’s something about English hot chocolate that somehow made it better than the stuff she was used to back home. It wasn’t necessarily sweet in the sense that she was familiar with, but she practically swooned once this stuff hit her tastes buds. It was the knee-buckling orgasmic kinda good. Which made the short walk from the little corner café to the Jones’ apartment – _flat, Swan. If you’re going to be staying here, use the correct term_ ­– all the more difficult. Killian stuck his tongue out in disgust when she offered a second sip, saying something about how it was worse than the American equivalent.

“I honestly don’t understand you,” she said.

“I’ll just stick to my tea.”

She rolled her eyes at that.

Once they reached the flat, Emma started to admire and understand the life Killian’s brother worked for. It was by no means big, but it was comfy. Two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a living area with a little balcony overlooking a park-ish lawn.

And a separate room for the toilet.

“I don’t understand,” Emma said when he told her. She opened the door to the closet space the toilet was in. “Why not put them in the same room?”

“I don’t fully understand why Americans put them in the same room in the first place,” Killian said, opening the door and revealing a sink and shower. “Frankly, it’s smarter to have it this way. Two people can be using them at once. As such, you now know where the shower is, so if you would like to use it, go ahead while I simultaneously use the toilet.”

Emma scoffed. “You could’ve just told me you had to pee.”

He looked taken aback. “How crass, Miss Nolan.”

“How inane, Mr. Jones.”

“How adorable, children.”

The hoarse voice surprised both of them and they twirled around to see another man in pajama pants and a t-shirt hanging in one of the bedroom doors. His hair was a curly brown, but the smirk he wore was one she was intimately familiar with.

“Emma, my prick brother Liam. Liam, Emma.” Killian squeezed by her into the frame of the toiliet closet. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to slip away to the loo for a moment.”

_He’s so British._

As the door to the toilet room shut, Emma turned her attention to Liam. She stuck her hand out. “Hi. Nice to finally meet you.”

“And you, Emma. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” she joked.

The smile on Liam’s face was telling. “You’d be surprised.” There was obviously some story behind that look and it made Emma wonder exactly what he knew about her. But the elder Jones moved on quickly, crossing his arms and resting against the doorjamb. “How was your flight?”

“Good, for the most part. Stood most of the time ‘cause I can’t sit for too long.”

He nodded in understanding before moving past her in the small hallway to the kitchen. “Has my brother been the polite host and offered you food or drink?” He was opening and closing the cabinets and mulling about in the kitchen. “We don’t have much. I mean to go to market later today.”

She laughed and followed him. “No, he hasn’t, but we did grab some food and coffee on the way from the airport.”

“At least he has some manners.”

“I heard that,” Killian said over the flush of the toilet and the opening and closing of the door. “You rudely interrupted me before I got the chance to ask.”

“If you were a true gentleman, it would’ve been your first question.”

“If I were a true gentleman, I would’ve shown her around while some lazy ass was sleeping.”

“Did we wake you up?” Emma asked.

Liam shook his head. “Don’t worry. I was just searching last night’s scores.” His eyes roamed over to his brother with another, much smugger smirk. “Someone’s team lost and now that someone’s got to do the dishes for the week.”

Killian knocked his head lightly against the wall. “Dammit, Tottenham, I believed in you.”

Liam laughed and headed back to his room to dress. “Make yourself at home, Emma.”

She hadn’t even set down her bags yet, but she felt she already has.

0000

Killian’s room was rather small, about the size of a dorm room back at school, but he had it to himself ( _and her for now_ ). His bed was pushed up against the window, the late morning sun warming her stomach as she naps. Liam left for the market not too longer after saying so, his pockets twenty British pounds heavier from Killian’s pay up, and Killian himself was napping on the couch in the living room.

(“No, it’s your room, I can’t kick you out.”

“You’ve barely slept, Swan. Besides, it’s only for the time being.”

“But you-”

“I insist.”)

It was refreshing: washing off stale airport air, snacking, catching up on lost sleep. Even within the two hours she’d been there, she really had taken Liam’s words to heart. The only more comfortable place she could be in this moment would involve the warmth of a certain man.

_Mmm nope. Nope, we’re not doing that._

Well rested, Emma struggled off the mattress, rolling on her side and pushing her way into a sitting position. It wasn’t the most effective way, but the adaptation was just another she’d gotten used to and it got the job done. She stretched, joints popping and muscles elongating. Killian’d shut the door on his way out, so she opened it and entered the living room to find him hazy-eyed on the couch.

“Hey beautiful,” he mumbled, his words garbled up by the corner of the pillow.

“Hi there.” Emma breathed deeply and stared out onto the balcony. “What’s the plan from here?”

Killian chuckled as he scooted into a seated position on the couch. “Let’s not beat around the bush, eh?” He groaned and stretched, his shirt shrugging up with his shoulders. “I was thinking we do the larger landmarks that are closest today and then make a stratagem for tomorrow and the next days, yeah?”

Emma smiled and looked back to him. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

0000

The rumble of the Tube was comforting. It lulled Emma into security, comfort, and sleep.

Killian next to her didn’t hurt.

_Although he is really hot. Like ew, don’t touch me._

She shifted next to him, shimmied her shoulders, and settled further into her seat.

“We shan’t be on here much longer,” he told her, leaning toward her.

“Ew, don’t breathe on me,” she grumped.

His brow shot up. “That’s a new insult.”

Emma scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue. _Nothing says I’m an adult more than that._

They spent the afternoon wandering about the London she knew: Big Ben, Elizabeth Tower, Westminster Abbey, the Palace of Westminster. They were all within walking distance, even sight of each other, a fact she hadn’t known until Killian’d told her. The church was gorgeous: stained glass windows like you wouldn’t believe and an air of solitude Emma couldn’t help but inhale and grin about. It was beautiful, all of it: the architecture, the people, the tourism of an entire city. Red buses zoomed by them on the street and Killian had to hold her back three times from crossing the road into incoming traffic. She’ll call her parents later, or tomorrow, or soon to fall at her knees in gratitude.

_I still can’t believe I’m here._

But now, on the way back to the flat for dinner with Liam, Emma was a bit irritable. She wasn’t used to walking that far and that long. Jet lag was roaring its ugly head. Even with her nap, she probably needed another solid 10 hours of sleep.

Which was why she was as cranky as she was on the ride back. But one step into the apartment changed her attitude in a flash. The scent of tomatoes and garlic wafted from the small kitchen and she sniffed it up, followed it like a dog to food. Liam stood in front of the stove, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon, another pot bubbling over with water.

“Liam, you arse,” Killian laughed from the doorway behind Emma, “we’d like to eat the food, not wipe it from the walls.”

Liam chuckled heartily. He set down the spoon on the counter before leaning over to kiss Emma on the cheek and slap his younger brother upside the head. “Pardon me,” he drawled. “Far be it from me to attempt a meal for my little brother and his visiting girlfriend.”

“Oh, we’re not,” Emma started to say, but she sensed Killian tensing at her side. “We’re not together really. Considering the circumstances, it’d be a little awkward.”

Liam drew a breath through his teeth and turned back to his food. “Apologies. Little brother and his lovely lady friend.”

Emma didn’t need to see him to know that Killian was rolling his eyes when he scoffed. “Younger. I’m younger, not little.”

“You’ll always be little to me, K.J.” Liam caught Emma’s eye and winked. “It shan’t be long now. Why don’t you wash up?”

She did as suggested despite the confusion she was suffering ( _K.J.? Who’s K.J.?_ ), wandering into the wrong bathroom first, and then making her way out into the living room. Killian was sitting at the table, looking at something on his laptop screen. He glanced up and gave her a tight smile.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. His brows furrowed when she did and she tilted her head to the side. “C’mon. I know something’s up.” Emma strolled up to him and rubbed a thumb across the creases on his forehead. “You’ve only got these when something intense is happening.”

“It’s nothing, Swan.” Killian shut his laptop and focused completely on her. “I’m just famished.”

“Aren’t you a lucky bastard then, yeah?” Liam came into the living room, a bowl and two beers in hand, and took a seat next to them, a sly grin on his face. “Food’s up. Hopefully this one’s got enough wits about to show you where the bowls are.”

Emma headed for the kitchen, but a hand on her arm stopped her.

“You’re a guest here, Swan,” Killian said. Scooting back from his chair, he stood. “I’ve got two hands, I can use them at once.” He motioned to the chair, and Emma accepted his offer.

But when her conversation buffer left, the awkward silence between her and the elder Jones increased.

“I know you’re not his girlfriend,” he uttered quietly, so as not be overheard by his brother. “He’s made that very clear before you came. I can’t help but shoot the shit with him about anything I can. I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Emma assured him. She waved away his apologies, laughed, and sighed. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s made that mistake.”

“I’d figured not. He won’t shut up about you.”

That made Emma blush more than his earlier comment on their relationship, but she was saved by his quick change in topic. _It must run in the family, this rapidfire attention._ Killian reentered, a bowl of steaming pasta in each hand, to find them talking animatedly about their day out.

“You’ve got to take her down to the water, cross Tower Bridge, that stuff, mate.”

“Oi, we’ll do as we please when we please.”

“Maybe I could get you onto the ship.” Liam clapped his hands excitedly. “Would that interest you at all, Emma?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I’m up for anything. So long as I get to eat at some point during the day and I can take a nap at any hour in this flat.”

Both brothers barked out a triumphant laugh. They high fived and amidst all their laughter, Emma asked, “What? What’d I say?”

Killian’s eyes crinkled at the end and his dimples were on full display. “You said flat! You said flat!”

“A true Londoner!” Liam bellowed.

Emma broke into laughter herself, doubling over as far as she could, given the circumstances. Killian held up his half-drunk beer, followed by Liam and Emma’s glass of water. Their resounding “Cheers!” echoed through the flat and across the courtyard even with the doors closed.

0000

The dishes finally cleaned and drying, Emma couldn’t stifle the yawn that wracked her body. Killian appeared at her shoulder, his clothes damp from the water fight him and his brother engaged in when they should have been washing the dishes.

“You ought to be asleep, love,” he murmured.

“I’m fine.” When Killian side-eyed her, she easily returned the glare. “Really. I’m fine.”

Liam dried his hands on a dish towel, saying, “Still. You’ve had a long day. And,” he groaned, “unlike some lucky folks I know, I have to make a living tomorrow.”

Emma pouted when she looked at him. “You’re no fun.”

Chuckling, Liam patted his brother on the shoulder and squeezed Emma’s hand as he passed “Reality’s a bitch, Ms. Swan. You best be ready for it when it comes.”

Together, Killian and Emma moaned.

“Children, children, please,” Liam scolded them good-humoredly. “I’m trying to get some beauty rest.”

“You’ll be sleeping for a long time then, brother,” Killian muttered under his breath. She doubted Liam when he said “I heard that!” from his room.

Killian ushered them into his bedroom, ready to say goodnight. Emma grabbed his hand as he, again, headed out to the living room.

“Killian, really, we can share the bed.” Another thought jumped to the forefront of her mind. “Unless you don’t want to. Then at least let me sleep on the couch.”

Even before she’d finished, he was furiously shaking his head.

“I won’t have it.” Instead, he snatched his pajamas and made to leave again. “We’ll share the bed. Lemme change.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He returned moments later, thankfully giving her enough time to change into her pajamas herself. Emma looked helplessly at the bed. “Do you have a preferred side?”

Shaking his head, Killian’s gesture silently said _Go for it._ So she did, ungracefully crawling across the mattress and fitting her body in the corner beneath the window. Killian followed, keeping some distance between them. They laid in the dark, him under the covers and her with a slight sheen of sweat above them.

“Do you mind if I crack the window?” she asked after some silence.

“Not at all,” he responded in the dark. Jostling about on the mattress, Emma pushed the window open a bit, admitting a tiny breeze.

“Thanks,” she whispered, settling back on the bed. It was quiet again until more movement rustled the sheets. It was Killian moving this time, flipping on his side to face her.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he spoke softly.

He couldn’t see her smile, she knew, even with the moonlight filtering in, so she reached into the space between them. She found his upper arm ( _muscles. Right. Those are a thing with him. A big thing_ ) and charted the trail down to his hand. She didn’t exactly hold his hand, but wrapped some of her fingers around those of his that weren’t pillowing his cheek and gave them a tender press.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” she admitted in his direction. “Thanks again for housing me. And inviting me. And dealing with me and everything. Just…thank you.”

Killian scooched forward and kissed her forehead.

“My pleasure…All my pleasure.”

0000

Her days in London were numbered, but always filled with adventure. Together, Killian and Emma had come up with a list – _Things not to be missed in jolly old England_ , Killian helpfully titled it – and rapidly crossed the items off. They walked around Camden Market one day and rode up to the top of the London Eye another. It was wonderful. Liam was wonderful. Killian was wonderful.

And he was affectionate – took her hand in the crowds, pressed his lips to her forehead as they rode up the escalators, indulged in her absurd amount of selfies together. No more than he usually was, but Emma noticed it more now, especially after Liam’s comments earlier in the week.

 _Girlfriend._ It was a title she hadn’t really had the chance to bear. But when used in tandem with Killian, it seemed…maybe weird? Not because she didn’t like the sound of it, but because of the extenuating circumstances. She hadn’t really given what they were much thought. He was her Killian and she was his Emma. That was how it works, how it had worked since he stepped into the girls’ bathroom.

But people in relationships _knew_ about each other. Knew _everything_ about each other. And she knew a lot about Killian. Knew boxing wasn’t his first choice, but they wouldn’t let him on the soccer team. Knew his breath was rank when he woke up in the morning. Knew Liam played more than older brother to him. But she didn’t know the story behind any of it. She was especially curious where his parents were, if the children had a falling out with them and didn’t talk except once a year at Christmas.

She didn’t _know_ him. It didn’t scare her, but it concerned her.

And it was that somewhat rational thinking that kept her from referring to Killian as her boyfriend. Because he wasn’t. He was her Killian. Her boxer. Her friend.

It was this sort of thinking that snuck into the recesses of her mind during their days together. They’d be walking through Regents Park, passing by an elderly couple who stared at them in that way that screamed admiration of young love. One glance and Emma was on the train of thought – _they think we’re together. We’re not. Please, lady, understand. I don’t know him, really know him like you know the man you walk next to. Please understand._

So when a night calmed down, Liam off at a bar with his mates, and they were settling down in his room, she asked him.

“Tell me a story.” Emma perched cross-legged on his bed, peering down at his horizontal body on the floor. Killian sat up and gazed at her.

“A story?” he repeated. Emma nodded. “Like a bedtime story?”

“Not necessarily.” Her fingers laid in her lap, twisted up with uncertainty. She glanced up, met his clear blue eyes, and returned her scrutiny to her lap (or what she could see of her lap. There was sort of something in her sightline), sighing. “I just…I just feel like there are a lot of things I don’t know about you.”

“Where’s this coming from, Swan?”

She shrugged. “Just tell me something not a lot of people know.”

Face pensive, Killian searched the ground for a minute before answering, “I’m allergic to pineapples.”

“Really?” Emma giggled in disbelief. “Pineapples?”

He nodded, biting a grin across his lips. “They make my mouth burn.”

Emma laughed outright, her hand hitting her sternum. Killian joined her soon after. Since it was his plight she was laughing at, the thought crossed her mind that maybe he was laughing because _she_ was laughing.

And this was all very confusing.

_I wish Ruby was here. Or Ashley. They’d be able to decode him._

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she accused him, laughter aftershocks still tingling across her skin.

“You asked for a fact most didn’t know,” he reasonsed, “which I obliged.”

“But I also asked for a story,” Emma reminded him. She stared him down until he sighed and she knew he’d give in.

“What do you want to hear? You’ve broached quite a broad topic.”

Licking her lips, Emma blurted out the first of her questions to come to mind: “Where are your parents? I’ve been here a couple days and neither of you nor Liam have mentioned them once.”

And she immediately regretted it. His face darkened, went downcast, and he started drawing figures on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “You don’t have to tell me. I just – it’s just – You don’t have to –”

But his head shook left and right, cutting off her sentences. “No, I can understand the confusion. Worry not, love.” He exhaled and stood, moving to the mattress and taking a seat next to her. He scratched the back of his head, behind his ear, and started. “Have you noticed how we get from place to place around here?”

“We walk. And the subway.”

“Tube, darling, it’s called the Tube.” His breathe was frustrated, but he soldiered on. “Do you know why?”

“I assumed it was because everything was so close and you don’t have access to a car.”

He chuckled. “Liam’s got a car.”

“But I’m getting the feeling you don’t use it often.”

He shook his head and took a deep breath. “When I was eight, we took a drive to the coast to visit some old friends of my parents’. It was a Friday, and it was supposed to be a nice night, had rained the morning of. My mum was in the driver’s seat, my dad navigator, me and Liam in the back. The road to and from the city ran by water and…” he struggled to get the next part out, seemed to change tactics of telling the same story. “It was late. Liam had fallen asleep against the window and…”

She clasped his hand, guessing how hard it was to tell her this. She almost told him not to bother, she didn’t need to know, raelly. He sensed her words before they left her mouth, shaking his head again. “I saw the flood coming, we were in a ravine, Mum saw it too late and Papa discounted it, said I was seeing things.”

She noted how small, young, and scared he seemed, especially when he called his father Papa. Then she remembered he was eight when this happened, the awkward transitionary age where Mommy becomes Mom and Daddy Dad.

“Oh, Killian.”

“It inundated the entire car, started pushing us forward with so much force. Mum and Papa were struggling against their safety belts, but Liam wasn’t wearing his. He never did even though Papa told him to all the time…I couldn’t breathe, I’d barely learned to swim, but Mum managed to unbuckle me and shoved the two of us out a door.”

Emma unconsciously moved a hand over her stomach. Would she do that if thrust into this situation, or any one like it? Would she push her child, give her life for his or hers?

He sighed and leaned his head on her shoulder. “We got swept away for a bit before Liam grabbed on a tree. The water calmed down in a couple minutes and we were soaked to the bone. Liam told me later that the detectives told him shortly after we must have escaped, they both got out of their belts and the force of the water slammed them into the windshield.”

Emma took his hand in both hers. She brushed her thumbs across the back of his hand. “What happened after that?”

“Papa was in the hospital for a few days before he passed. Couldn’t quite get the water out of his lungs. Mum was killed on impact.” He turned his head further into her shoulder, composing himself. “The police asked to pass me off to a distant relative in Ireland, declare Liam an independent, but I was scared shitless and my brother wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Killian, I’m so sorry.”

“Twas long ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” She gasped in realization. “That’s why you walk. You don’t like cars.”

A sad smile appeared on his face. “Do you blame me?”

“That’s why you freaked out when I brought you home.”

Killian tilted his head like an adorable lost puppy. “Pardon?”

“You fell asleep in the car when I brought you to mine,” and she internally giggled at the fact that she only said ‘mine’ and not ‘my house.’ “And when I shook you awake you freaked out.”

“It’s likely.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, first off, I would’ve judged you less.”

“I’m hurt, Swan.”

“And second off, you can tell me anything.” Emma laid her hand over his and squeezed it. “We’re friends, Killian. I’m here for you, you’re here for me, that’s how this works.”

He was bashful when he said, “I didn’t want to intrude or overshare.”

Exasperated, Emma scoffed. “Christ, Killian, you’ve got to stop assuming you’re a bother to me. If you were, I’d’ve left you on campus instead of bringing you to home. I wouldn’t have flown across an ocean while pregnant if you were a nuisance.” She picked her next words carefully. “I care for you, you moron. I’m in this for the long haul, whether you like it or not.”

He smiled at his words from her mouth. “Swan, I do believe that is the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it, buddy.”

The silence that ensued wasn’t awkward: it was comforting. Emma felt like she should be saying or doing something to move the negative memories from his mind, but didn’t know where to start.

Of course, he beat her to it. His hand found hers on her knee, sending small pulses from her fingertips, up her arms, and into the rest of her body, where it heated her heart and face and…inappropriately, elsewhere.

“Then we are friends,” he said softly.

“Of course we are,” Emma responded, equally as gentle.

“Just friends?”

She could hear the hope in his voice. Even after making him relive probably the most traumatizing moments of his life, he latched on to her, to _them_. And it hurt her.

“Killian.” Her voice was a breath, a plea. “I meant what I said. I do care for you a whole lot. But given everything-”

He nodded. “No, I understand completely.”

Attempting to lighten the situation, though probably ill-timed, she nudged her shoulder into his. “Ask me again in two to three months.”

Killian chuckled. “Why, so you can deny me for the new man in your life?”

Pulling back, Emma looked him in the eyes. “What new man? The only men I’ve spent time around in the last six months are Graham, my dad, and you.” Smiling, his finger pointed to the bulge of her stomach. She gasped for dramatic effect. “Mr. Jones, are you saying I’ll have a son? Are you conceding?”

“No, no,” he clarified with a grin. “I’m still rooting for a blonde little lass, but I like to cover all my bases.”

She pushed him playfully and shouted, “That’s cheating!”

Killian held his hands up in surrender, but allowed her to continue jostling him on his bed. They settled down and it was quiet for a while before she asked, “What were their names?”

“My dad was called James.” He inhales. “’s where I got my middle name.”

“Killian James?” she said incredulously.

“Yeah. Liam Benjamin and Killian James.” He knocked into her shoulder with his. “When I was younger, Papa and Liam’d always call me K.J.”

“That makes so much more sense now.” Killian cocked an eyebrow and she shrugged. “My first night here, Liam said something about you always being his little K.J.”

“Ah.” He nodded his head sagely. “Yes, he does call me that from time to time, just like he refuses to refer to me as his younger brother.” Killian sighed. “But my mum always called me Killian.”

“And your mom’s name?”

“Audrey.”

Emma let the name ricochet around her brain. “That’s a really pretty name.”

“Fit her well.” A beat of silence surrounded them. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Emma drew patterns on her stomach.

“What are you thinking?” he inquired.

She opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Would you…”

“Spit it out, love.”

“What if I named Pudge Audrey?” she spat out. A quick glance showed her he heard, but hadn’t completely registered her meaning. “In the rare case of hell freezing over and you end up winning the bet.”

Surprise and a sense of honor registered on his face. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She moved further back on the bed so her aching back could rest against the wall. “I was thinking Audrey Ruth. Ruth’s my father’s mom,” she added. It was an old-fashioned name, she knew, but (a) her grandma was such a sweetheart and (b) it was Emma’s middle name. Even if the baby ended up being a girl, though her heart yearned for a boy, Emma wanted a little bit of herself in her daughter.

“Really?”

She laughed out, “Yeah. Why would I lie about my grandma’s name?”

Killian snickered and it warmed her. “You know fair well that isn’t what I meant.”

Grin spreading across her lips, Emma decided to pull one of his own moves against him. She tipped her head to the side and asked, “Does that surprise you?”

He mimicked her. “Yeah, it really does. You never met her and yet…” he trailed off.

“Killian, I told you I was worried.” A lump manifested in her throat, making her thoughts even more difficult to say aloud. “If I had a daughter, I’d be a bad role model. But your mother raised you and you turned out…” And here, she stuttered because how exactly _has_ he turned out? “Well, you know.”

He smirked. “No, I don’t. Please, do tell.”

Emma huffed, completely ignoring his plea. “Anyway, it’s already a nice name. It flows well.”

“Audrey Ruth Nolan,” he said quietly, like the name is a wine to savor.

“Audrey Ruth Nolan,” she reiterated. _It’s got promise_. “But I’m still betting on a boy.”

“A son.” He laughed to himself. Spreading his arms wide, he said “Killian David Nolan” with enough flourish for a Broadway billboard in neon lights.

She guffawed too hard, making her snort, so she slapped him.

“What? I quite like the flow of that.”

Emma shook her head and bit her lip. “How ‘bout Henry? How do you think that sounds?”

“Henry David Nolan.” He shrugged all the same. “I guess that works just fine as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cuties being cute in london. so cute


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it gets a little porny toward the end. thought you ought to know.

Thursday ended up being rainy. Again.

“This is the weather I was expecting,” Emma teased from beneath their shared umbrella. She peeked up to see his reaction and wasn’t disappointed with his scoff.

“Of course you were,” he said sarcastically. “And I was expecting year-round snow when I moved to Boston.”

“Come on now.” She slapped him on the arm, but soothed it by threading her arm through his. “London is notoriously drab and dreary.”

Killian squeezed her arm between his and his side. “Dreary and drab, huh? Be careful, Swan. I don’t recall hearing those words in the states. You might be picking up a thing or two here.”

Emma huffed, but leaned her head against his shoulder. They were walking down Oxford Street. Not necessarily the best activity for a gray day, but the vast majority of tourists were in museums today, away from the bad weather, so they had the sidewalk to themselves.

“Are you hungry?” he murmured close to her ear. “I know this coffee shop a stone’s throw from here I believe you’d enjoy.”

Despite the sincerity of the question, Emma just laughed. “Killian, I’m always hungry.”

He shrugged. “Thought I’d ask in any case.”

At the next corner, they crossed the road and turned left, down an even less crowded throughway. The café was only three or so blocks from Oxford, so that just as Emma’s feet began to ache, they arrived.

A literal hole in the wall, stuck between two nondescript office buildings, The Jolly Roger was corny, yet homey. Everything was paneled in wood, there was a fireplace to one side that crackled even in the middle of July, and probably less than a dozen tables. None of them were open when they first examined their options, but the couple at a table by the fire stood as soon as they saw Emma and Killian hovering by the entrance. The woman came up to them as the man took their mugs to the counter.

“Go ‘head and take our spot, darling,” she said kindly. Her eyes flicked down to Emma’s stomach and she smiled. “You really shouldn’t be out in this weather. You and the babe’ll catch your death.”

“Thank you,” Emma answered hesitantly, her words coming out like a question. This stranger was so caring for someone who had no idea of the situation. The woman looked to Killian, then back at Emma, smiled again, and headed out of the café. Her friend left shortly thereafter, with a nod and a muted “cheers” to the both of them, which Killian responded to before leading Emma to the table.

“That’s the first time that’s happened,” Emma whispered across the table, shedding her rain jacket.

“What?”

“That someone’s actually left so I could sit down.”

Killian’s eyebrow shot up as he slid into his chair, then he raised his one shoulder with a smirk. “What can I say? We English are much more polite than our rabblerousing American counterparts.”

Emma eyed him, tilting her head and grimacing good-naturedly. She hummed her disapproval instead of uttering a word before rotating her body to search her fancy on the menus above the counter.

“Hot chocolate with cinnamon, love?” Killian asked smugly, as if she would want any other drink. “Anything else pique your interest?”

“How ‘bout a chocolate croissant?”

The chair legs scraped against the wooden floor. Killian headed toward the counter, leaning down and whispering “As you wish” into her ear as he goes.

She wasn’t all too happy about the fire burning nearby – she always seemed to be running hotter and the summer heat didn’t do anything to help that matter – but the rain had given her a chill. It was nice to ward that off while she waited.

Chocolate croissant was definitely the right move, Emma decided halfway through her first bite. The bread was warm and the chocolate gooey and it hit the spot like nothing else ever had.

The company she keeps didn’t hurt. Killian told her of other options, things they could do with the day, museums to visits or landmarks to take selfies at. He was happier than she thinks she had ever seen him, his accent so strong and thick Emma had trouble understanding him sometimes.

But when the front door of the café opened, admitting a cold breeze and a dark haired woman into the warmth of the hearth, the understanding was clear. The woman’s eyes roved over the occupants of the café. They widened when they fell on Emma, or rather Killian. His back was to the entrance, so he had no idea, but the moment this woman took a step toward their table, Emma’s hackles shot up. Her senses were in overdrive because the last time she saw a look like that, all it brought her was trouble.

“Oh my god, Killy, where’ve you been?” the woman practically screeched.

Almost comically, Killian’s eyes mirrored the mystery woman’s in width and his head whipped around. He didn’t see Emma look at him from across the table, but he did hear the confused “Killy?” issued from her lips.

“Emma, please, not now.” He rose quickly and moved between the table and the other woman, effectively blocking Emma from the other woman. “Look, I told Liam to tell you-”

The woman’s shoulders slumped as she approached him. “Yes, I know,” she grumbled, “I just don’t see why.”

“Milah, please leave. I was quite serious, I want nothing to do with you anymore.”

This was a different man. This wasn’t anywhere close to the Killian Emma knows, who invited her to London or waited for her outside the OB/GYN office. None of the sweetness, the kindness was there.

But it wasn’t the boxer she knows either, and she knew how drastic a change in demeanor that was from her Killian. When he was in the ring, his face was serious, but not as cold and hurtful as it was now.

This woman, Milah, did something to him to royally piss him off.

_We can’t have that at all, now can we?_

“Oh, Killian, c’mon.” This woman, Milah, was on the verge of begging, but seemed almost too haughty, too used to getting her way, that she didn’t. “It was a bump in the road. We could’ve gotten over it.”

“You forget that you were the one who decided,” Killian said lowly. He still stood between her and the table, separating Emma from the fray but also blocking her view of the confrontation. “You were the one that made the final decision and run back to him. You’re the one who decided to two-time. I would’ve been there, Milah. I was in love with you.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem now!” Her arms came up to rest on his shoulders, a perverted static dance in the middle of this café. “I love you too, Killian, so why shouldn’t we be together?”

“Was.” Killian unwrapped himself from her grasps and took a step back, knocking into the table. Emma caught at her hot chocolate to keep it from falling, but failed to keep his or her drink from sloshing over the sides and into the saucers. “I was in love with you, Milah. No more. Just as you are no longer in love with me. You merely want a steady adventure, same as before.”

Her face fell. Her emotions were a muddle on her face. Killian took her moment of confusion and weakness to check in on Emma behind him, to register the disorientation on her face but find that that was the only worrisome factor about her.

Building up her defenses again, Milah opened her mouth to speak the same time the door of the café opened and admitted a man, quite a lot older than anybody in there, with a small child trailing behind him. Just as Milah’s did before, his eyes searched out the establishment for someone. And when he found her, he limped up behind Milah.

“Milah, are you done?”

Milah’s eyes narrowed before she turned to the man. “Okay, whatever, I’ll come around soon,” she bid briskly, waving him and the boy away. Emma was affronted by the rudeness she utilized to speak to this man, who obviously knew her, but the man didn’t even blink at it. He swings the toddler up on his hip and walked to the counter, perusing the pastries without a second question.

And then, going in a completely different direction, Milah was smiling when she looked to Killian, flirtatiousness going through the roof.

And then she spotted Emma.

“Oh, hi there,” she greeted her cheerily, as if Emma hadn’t witnessed the exchange. “I’m sorry about this. I’m Milah. Killian and I used to go out.” She stuck out her hand out to shake, but Killian pulled her away by the bicep.

“Don’t, love.” Killian’s voice was hard as he warned Emma, and left no room for argument ( _not that I wouldn’t trust him anyway_ ).

But, despite that, the “Killian, I can hold my own” Emma speaks made her decision for her. Her voice was just as callous as his and didn’t warrant any bullshit. Levering herself up by the table, Emma stood and thrust her hand past Killian toward Milah. “Nice to meet you. I’m Emma.”

Milah grabbed her hand, but their shake was limp. The other woman’s eyes bulged, aimed down at Emma’s previously hidden huge stomach. Emma glanced to Killian. His eyes were shut and his head downcasted. He licked his bottom lip and his hand rubbed against his facial hair slowly, almost as if he was disappointed.

 _Oh shit_ , Emma thought. There was a reason to everything he did: Killian didn’t act foolishly like she did, didn’t react without thinking. _Which is exactly what I just did_.

“American,” Milah finally responded. Then she looked to Killian. “I never thought you had a type, but it seems I was mistaken.”

That threw Emma for a loop. She was American, yes, but Milah wasn’t. And except for maybe a fiery personality sometimes, Emma found absolutely nothing in common between her and the other woman.

The confusion must have appeared on her face for an instant, but Milah snatched it up and ran with it.

“He hasn’t told you about me, has he?” she asked. Emma shook her head, _another mistaken instinct,_ and Milah continued. “How long have you been going out?”

Worried, Emma flicked her eyes to Killian for a second. “Well, we ar-”

“Because he hasn’t mentioned you. His brother hasn’t mentioned you, not when I called him last, and that wasn’t too long ago.”

“You called Liam?” The words came out unbidden, but at this rate, Emma was just trying to figure out everything as rationally as possible. Which was surprisingly hard. The more Milah talked, the more Emma wanted to simultaneously punch her and sit down and cry.

But Milah focused on Killian, addressing him instead of responding to her. “Is it yours?”

He lacked any emotion when he said, “It’s none of your business.”

Her smile grew slowly. It hurt to look at, hurt more to hear her tell Emma that he’ll leave her “just like he left me.” She nodded to the older man who interrupted her earlier, still holding the boy in his arms and looking at pastries.

“He was ready to raise my son as ours, but left me for America.” She looked at Killian. Her voice was calm and steady when she asked, “Where are you going to run away to now, Killy?”

He didn’t deign her worthy of an answer. His wallet came out of his pocket, some notes fell on the table, and before Emma could really register it, she donned her rain slicker again and journeyed out into the grey weather, Killian’s grip firm on her hand.

They didn’t say a word, heading back to the flat instead of out on another adventure as they’d planned. Shock was all she felt right now: about Milah, about Killian, at the dispute between the two. But the thing that threatened to shut her down completely was Milah’s parting words.

_Where are you going to run away to now, Killy?_

0000

Shock. Fear. Distress. Anger.

Fuming, unadulterated anger. Emma was furious when they finally staggered into the flat. Killian yelled for Liam to receive no answer, the first words he said in close to half an hour. She shucked off her wet jacket, trying to calm herself down.

She couldn’t.

_He didn’t tell me. He’s been in this situation before._

It was unfair and unreasonable, she knew. She’ll blame the hormones, _always the hormones_ , but in reality, she was only a notch angrier than she would normally have been.

Killian walked into the living room, Emma following in her due time. He paced the small space, but stopped for a moment to let her sit on the couch. And then he started up again. His hand ran through his hair, messing it up and only making Emma angrier.

_Stupid pretty face with his stupid pretty hair being stupid._

Once settled, Emma demanded to know what Milah meant.

“What was she talking about, Killian?” she asked. “What haven’t you told me?

“It’s nothing, really,” he said in a falsely casual voice. “Just a bitter ex, something of that nature.”

“Killian, I’ve been around a bitter ex. You were in the same room. That was not a bitter ex. That was,” she hesitated for the right word, her brain scrambled by the emotions. “That was a conniving almost-woman.”

“She was a lovely woman when we dated.”

Her rage and contempt forced Emma to stand. She wasn’t even fully upright before Killian stopped his pacing altogether, coming over to help her sit back down. Slapping his hand away, Emma made her point tersely before sitting herself back down: “What. Happened.”

He sighed and reluctantly started.

“Milah and I met during our courses when we were 15. She was wild, a real free spirit. Our instructor paired us together for an oral presentation, so she’d come over here to work. Never hers, always here. Liam never truly approved of her, just sort of wrote her off. But I was taken.”

Killian hazarded a glance toward her, and Emma could only hope her face was neutral, didn’t show the typhoon threatening to burst from within.

“Anyway, after the presentation, she kept hanging around. She kept messaging me and we’d meet for tea and we started going out. Swan, she was amazing, but completely unpredictable. She’d disappear for weeks at a time and come back remorseful and we’d…” he gulped and gestured nervously with his hands. “We’d be together.”

It’s morbid curiosity that lent her to ask “Did you lose her virginity to her?”

Eyes widening for but a second, Killian inhaled deeply and continued with his story. _So that’d be a yes._ “She came to me a few weeks into our last year before uni and…well, she told me she was pregnant. I’d suspected it and once she told me, I realized it fully. Liam wasn’t pleased when I told him, but he and I were both ready to help Milah out, financially and otherwise. I was…It took time, but once I’d adjusted to the idea, I was in for the long haul.

“But rumors started to swirl as she started to show and a mate of mine, Will, he came to me after practice once and told me Milah’d been involved with grad student in Kingston. That when she fell from the face of the earth, she was with him. And that chances were the babe wasn’t mine to begin with.”

“Just tell me why you didn’t tell me.” Her voice was hoarse from not speaking.

“It wasn’t important.”

Her jaw dropped. “Killian, this is your life. A very big part of it, by the sounds of it.” There was a twinge in her body, probably a reaction to this conversation, so she ignored it and soldiered forward. “We’re friends at the very least, I tell you everything-”

“Just because you decide to open up to me doesn’t mean I’m required to-”

“Yes it does, moron!” she yelled, exasperated. “Friendship is a two way street.” The pain got a little stronger with her outburst, sort of reverberated throughout her body before settling in her stomach. “Do you think I came over here for shits and giggles? No, I came over here ‘cause I wanted to be with you.”

The light behind his eyes changed at her words. “And I understand that, Swan, I do, but-”

“Oh my god, this entire thing could’ve been prevented if you hadn’t fucking come in the girls’ bathroom. Why the fuck would you-”

“Cause I saw the signs,” he shouted, “just like I saw with Milah!” He ran his hand through his hair, twisting it up even further. “I knew you were going to need someone to rely on and once I realized it was you, you were the blonde from orientation, I had to help!”

“I trusted you!” She was really glad that Liam was out. This would’ve been embarrassing for him to witness, mostly because she and Killian, they don’t fight. The most heated discussion they’d gotten into was whether curly or smiley face fries were better. “I told you about Neal!” Her anger threatened to boil over, and the pain in her stomach jabbed out. She shifted in her seat. “You know things I don’t know about me.”

“And that was your decision to tell me them,” Killian said. His hands splayed out in front of him, palms up. “Never did I express interest in telling you about Milah-”

“Bullshit,” Emma scoffed. “I remember when Liam called you. I know the call she was talking about. I fucking asked you what was wrong and you just brushed it off.” She cringed, her stomach churning. “Now look where we are, you asshole.”

Killian set off on a spiel, giving examples as to why he wasn’t an asshole, that he never needed to tell her his secrets, she needed to focus on her issues and as a good friend, so did he, but it all became background noise to Emma. At the beginning of his lecture, Emma’s hand came to rest between her legs, but her fingers found wetness. When she looked down, a small amount of blood had soaked her shorts and pooled on the couch cushion.

“Killian,” she said real quietly at the sight. She winced when the twinge poked hard at her lower back. _No. No, not now. Not now, not here, not ever._ “Killian.”

But he kept talking or whatever he’s doing, oblivious. Until she shouted “Killian!”

“What, Swan?”

He saw the red stain spreading on the couch. Scared eyes flew to hers immediately.

“Something’s wrong,” she said in a small voice.

He moved quickly, grabbing the car keys from the table and scooping her, _all of her_ , up.

And, as irrational as it all was, Emma asked, “What about Liam?” from his arms.

“I’ll call him from hospital,” he said gruffly. “You’re my priority now.”

Emma tried to stay calm, but she was so fucking scared, she nearly lost her mind. _I’m across the ocean in an unfamiliar country without my parents but instead with the guy I just so happen to trust and kind of like from school._

Liam’s car was a little thing, almost a clown car compared to what she was used to. Emma wanted to joke about, do something to lighten the situation, but almost as soon as Killian set her down at the passenger door, her body ached like no other.

_It’s nothing. I’ll be fine, everything’s fine. Fine fine fine fine. If I say it enough, it’ll come true._

She was scared and wholeheartedly thought that she lost the baby. She was hopeless, taking deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating, though it does little good.

While in the car to the hospital, zooming about on the wrong side of the road, ( _her wrong side, his correct side_ ) Killian grasped her hand in his and stared straight into her eyes. “Emma, the minute I let go of the belief that things will get better is the minute I know they won’t. You have to stay positive. Nothing bad is going to happen to you or your child. I won’t allow it.”

She nodded, biting her lips because she couldn’t tell if she was in physical or mental pain. _Probably both._

0000

A little while later, Emma lay in a hospital gown in a bed, hooked up to some machine. Her heartbeat beat a tad faster than it should have been, according to the nurse, but it was the nerves involved in this entire situation, she told herself. She was alone, but she knew, without a doubt, that Killian was still outside, waiting for the moment they’d allow him in.

Until then, she was on her own.

The doctor finally came in, some nice old man with an accent that almost makes his words indistinguishable, but the overall gist was _healthy_. She was healthy, the baby was healthy, a little bleeding was to be expected, probably had something to do with the change in pressure caused by flying or new environment. She was nearing the end of the optimal flying window, so she was best be wary of that. And the pain was probably the baby kicking, moving around in her belly to get comfortable, something that had probably been happening so often she only learned to notice it when it became too intense.

But she was _fine_.

Emma didn’t think she’d ever breathed such a huge sigh of relief.

“Is there someone outside we can bring back for you? Your mother or father, perhaps?” the doctor inquired.

Not knowing if they’d allow him back if he wasn’t related, Emma said, “Yeah, my boyfriend, the baby’s father, he’s out there.” She chuckled internally because this was exactly what he wasn’t. That’s what they’d sort of been fighting over before this whole thing happened, right? In a roundabout sort of way? “Can you please send him back?”

The doctor gave her a cordial nod and left the room.

Her heartbeat resumed its normal pace.

Killian walked in in a rush. “What’s wrong? Are you both okay?” He reached the bed as she nodded, tears starting to roll down her face. And right there, he took her face in his hands, successfully stopping her nods before they all but caused her to lose her head. “Emma, tell me you’re alright. I want to hear you say it.”

She did one better: she kissed him. Long and hard, her hands coming up to frame his face, only now noticing that his beard was really starting to come in by the way it scratched against her palms.

When she pulled away, he breathed out her name. Just “Emma.”

“Don’t,” she hushed him, realizing what she had done. She didn’t mean it. It was the hormones, _always the hormones_. She was just so happy the baby was okay, she just needed to share that joy. “It was a one-time thing…I’m just…” she laughed, wiping away the tears and sniffing unattractively. “The baby’s fine. I’m fine.”

Killian looked in her eyes, saw that all of this was happening too fast, she just wasn’t ready for all this, so he nodded and moved his hand to hers. “You’re okay.”

She laughed out of relief. “Yeah.” The hand not holding his sprawled out on her stomach. “Gave me quite the scare there, Pudge.” His hand covered hers there too. If her memory served her well, this was the first time he’d done that and the look said that if she wasn’t comfortable with it, he’d remove it.

She has all the power right now, all the control, and for once, she didn’t necessarily want to be.

Thankfully, Pudge took the reins. The skin on her stomach pulsed like a monster trying to burst from her. Both of them inhaled through their noses, surprised by the movement.

“Did you,” Killian breathed. His face seemed both confused and awestruck. “Has it-”

“No,” Emma said just as quietly. “I mean, he might’ve, but I haven’t been paying attention.”

Pudge moved a little bit more before settling, so Emma watched her baby move within her while her and Killian’s hands rose and fell with her breaths.

_Everything’s okay._

Liam dropped by later, just as worried about his brother’s friend, or more than friend, or whatever they are, as his younger brother. They still held hands, but Killian had moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Emma was scooted upright now, much more color and joy in her face than earlier in the day.

“I’m assuming all is well then,” he said.

“Yeah,” Emma chuckled. Her hand caressed her stomach. “Pudge just wanted to make things a little more interesting for us.”

In a familial motion, Liam cocked his brow. “Us?” He looked to Killian, who barely spared him a glance, but Emma caught it as well. It wasn’t as if…Well, they had been approaching it as a sort of joint mission.

But then reality slammed her in the face, his conversation with Milah in the café, and she corrected herself, tried to pass it off as a joke or a slip of the tongue.

She could tell Liam didn’t believe her excuse. She didn’t either.

The doctor checked on her once more, about an hour after Liam’s arrival.

“Good bill of health,” he informed the three of them. “Miss. Nolan, you’ll have to calm down with your touring of the town. Under normal circumstances, I would recommend bedrest or light exercise, but seeing as you’ve got a long flight in a few days’ time, my suggestions are moot.”

With a sheepish smile, Emma thanked the physician, as did the Jones brothers.

As they left the hospital, Emma flanked by a brother on each side, she gasped and stopped in the middle of the walkway.

“What?” Killian’s voice was panicked. Liam had a hand on her shoulder, as if she was about to faint and he was ready to catch her. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m fine, sorry, it’s okay,” Emma reassured him. “I need to call my parents. I need to...” she looked up and down his person. “Where’s your phone?”

“Here.” Handing over a flip phone, Liam gave her a run-down of how to call internationally. “It should work.”

The phone rung and rung. Killian ushered them to the side of the waiting room, eyes still focused and worried on her. In the end, no one picked up the home phone, so she ended up leaving a message. She probably wouldn’t hear the end of it later, but it was the best she could do for now.

“Hey guys. It’s me. Just wanted to call you and tell you I was in the hospital. Everything’s fine. The baby thought now would be the opportune time to scare the living bejeezus out of me, but the doctors checked me out and I’m fine. I’ll talk to you soon.” A slight pause. “Really. I’m fine. Okay, love you, bye.” As she handed the phone back to Liam, she thanked him right before insulting him. “Why’ve you got this dinosaur brick?”

“Watch yourself, lass,” he playfully warned her. “You best be thanking me.”

“I did.” Liam stepped ahead of them to search for the car, and Emma took that time to grab Killian’s hand. She murmured in his ear, “I can see why he might be a prick sometimes.”

His chuckle wiped most of the concern from his face, his hand pulsing her fingers gently.

Liam drove them all back to the flat and sent her straight to bed, much to Killian’s dismay.

“Christ, Liam, she’s probably starved half to death, you prick,” Killian chided him. “She’s having a child, not being one. Don’t send her to bed without supper.”

“Killian, it’s fine.” Emma looked at Liam, contrition showing on his face. “Really. Too much excitement today fed my appetite.”

“Won’t you be famished come morning?”

“Yeah,” she said on a breath. “But the tired is too real right now.”

Meaning to bid them both good night, Emma made her way to Killian’s room. She heard the door creak open behind her and Killian poked his head in.

“Are you quite sure you’re fine?”

Emma chuckled. “Yes, quite sure.”

He nodded. After a moment, he opened the door wider and grabbed his pajamas and a blanket. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“C’mon, you don’t have to.”

“No,” he said sternly at the doorjamb. “The physician insisted you rest easy, which I know you won’t tomorrow, which means you must rest easy tonight.”

“Killian-”

“No.” He smirked, lopsided and sweet. “I’m glad you’re both healthy, Swan. I’ll see you in the morning.”

0000

That night, something happened. Not anything bad, per se, just...unexpected.

 _C’mon, Emma. It was bound to happen,_ her inner monologue chided her.

There were so many different feelings and hormones and _urges_ floating about her body. They came to a breaking point after what happened in the hospital. Killian’s reaction – it wasn’t like she wasn’t expecting him to worry about her. Liam was worried for her, for God’s sakes, and he barely knew her.

But their relationship had never been set in stone. And that kiss…

She shouldn’t be thinking about it. Should not be thinking about, especially in his bed, hardly covered.

But fantasy and reality are two very, _very_ different things.

It was dark in his bedroom, warm but cooling from a breeze through the open window. The doctor had told her to rest and Killian had taken that to mean she needs the entire bed at her disposal. Emma wasn’t one to dispute that – even before her pregnancy, she was a bed hog – though she did protest it originally. She felt bad when he took a pillow and blanket and exiled himself to the living room.

That feeling was long gone now, replaced by much stronger feelings.

The Internet warned her – in her initial research, in the wee hours of a morning soon after the newly-acquainted Killian left – that around this time in pregnancy, women tended to get a bit more…sexual. Emma’d read accounts from women who literally pounced on their husbands and boyfriends three times a day for weeks at a time.

Emma didn’t have a husband. Or a boyfriend. She had a Killian and while she realized that, one day, she might be into having sex with him, now wasn’t that time. Especially when she was the size of a house with someone else’s child.

_It’s his child in all the ways that matter._

Again, she pushed that sort of thought away. It was not the mind path she wanted to travel down right now, right ever. The path she wanted starts when she laid in his bed. Even when he wasn’t there, his pillows and sheets reeked of him: sweat and leather and distinctively male. It was overwhelming, especially with her over-sensitized sense of smell.

And she was alone in it. Practically bathing in his scent a nice reprieve from hospital smell – clean, antiseptic, and frankly disgusting. The adrenaline of her earlier hospital trip slowly drained from her veins, but it wasn’t all gone quite yet.

 _One kiss,_ she thought to herself. _It was one fucking kiss. It’s not like we haven’t done that before._

Even the sex she’s had, limited though it may be, didn’t make her feel this way. There were butterflies in the pit of her stomach, growing hotter with every flash of _him._

And he was doing stupid things. He smiled at her in her mind’s eye, sharing a hearty laugh that bent his back. He was up in her face, nose and lips tracing and trailing over her neck, hands crawling up her sides. None of it had happened, not even with Neal, but damn, did it get her going. It uptook with her breathing, quickening and shallowing instead of deepening into sleep. Her body responded absurdly to each gentle gust that brushed across her heated skin.

She wasn’t wearing much, just an oversized shirt from home. It was too hot for anything heavy and nothing really fit her. So when her thoughts took a turn ( _his hands over her breast, teasing, his teeth biting at the juncture of her neck_ ) and that stupidly nicknamed hand of his slid down, it was only natural her own hand followed.

 _Oh god,_ she thought with a breathless gasp. _I can’t tell anyone. I will not let Ruby drag this out of me. Never. She’d freak if I told her. She’d slap me across the face for not going down the hall and doing this with the real thing._

Even in her dazed state, Emma briefly entertained the idea. He would…well, she didn’t know how he’d react. Didn’t know how she’d react, to be honest. But a single touch of her own hand distracted her, put her back on the track she’d set off on.

And, my, what a brilliant track it was. She came quietly as she could, curling up on herself, breathing in a new breeze as it came in. Her hand still between her thighs, Emma giggled away her nerves.

She’d sleep well tonight and worry about the consequences come morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh doggie, what a chapter. Tell me what you think. Until next time :)


	25. Chapter 25

She didn’t tell a soul. Had no plans to. Not that she normally would, but especially given the circumstances. It was the one souvenir from London she got to keep to herself.

Emma woke the next morning as if nothing was different. Wonderful smells wafted from the small kitchen, meaning Killian had made the three of them breakfast, Liam home from work for the morning. When she asked the elder Jones why, he said he woke with a headache and nausea, remnants of the night he had had previously, something she could relate to on a spiritual level.

(He stayed to make sure she was okay, that _they_ were okay.)

(She appreciated the gesture more than words could say.)

Despite the doctor’s orders to take it easy – though even the good physician did realize the absurdity of his request – Emma insisted on doing _something_.

“Honestly, both of you,” she whined over a plate of eggs and bacon, “I’m fine. The doctor said I was fine. I _am_ fine.”

“But you shouldn’t overexert yourself,” Killian reasoned.

“Little brother’s got a fine point.” Liam’s mouth was full of eggs and his next words were muffled by the coffee he gulped down behind them. “Shouldn’t walk all too much.”

She groaned because _everywhere they go involves walking too much_. The Jones brothers rolled their eyes.

Emma got her way regardless. Some clever turns of phrase and a fluttering of her lashes tricked them into thinking the plan was a compromise. She spent the afternoon walking through the halls of the Victoria and Albert Museum, Killian by her side. They took frequent breaks at Killian’s behest, sitting on a nearby park benches and taking the elevator when there were no museum curators to send them nasty looks.

The rest of her trip flew by much the same. Everything – every single place and experience ( _except drinking in a pub, but they do have dinner in one, so that counts, right?_ ) on her list – got a dark line through it by the time Emma boarded her plane at the end of the week.

She didn’t cry when Liam hugged her tightly the night before her departure. He couldn’t escort them to the airport because _someone has to make a living_.

“You’re an absolute delight, Emma,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m so glad you got to visit.” The man pulled her closer than she could imagine and, in an even gentler voice, whispered, “Thank you for watching over my little brother. You are the light of his life.”

(She did blush, though. A hell of a lot.)

She didn’t cry when Killian kissed her forehead at the airport gates.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I have no choice,” she said, shifting her backpack on her shoulder. “It’s either I suffer through a seven hour flight or stay here.”

“I think the choice is obvious then: you stay here.”

His smirk widened when she slapped his arm. Killian yanked her close, like his brother did hours earlier, and pressed his lips to her forehead again. “Be careful.” He pulled back and looked pointedly at her stomach. “Both of you.”

“We will,” she reassured him. “I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Text me when you land, yeah?”

“Of course.”

(She couldn’t say goodbye to him, just ‘see you later.’ Goodbye was too permanent.)

She finally broke down when she sat at the gate. The flight attendant called for first boarding and the levees cracked. She found her seat in 25C and some of the walls fell apart. It wasn’t until they lifted off that silent tears flowed down her cheeks. As soon as the fasten seatbelt sign flashed off, Emma unbuckled and headed back to the flight attendant station, her chest rising and falling much too fast.

Her adventure was over. It was back to the real world. The frightening, all-too-real real world, where she’s going back to school with a baby.

Growing up _sucked_.

0000

Emma was pretty sure the plane’s wheels touched down at Logan and her desire to do absolutely anything but lay on her couch and catch up on Real Housewives skyrocketed. She didn’t want to move.

But, as was often the case, everything needed to be done. Once her tears dried up, thanks mostly in part to the lovely Marian, her personal flight attendant friend, the nerves settled in. She’d been so preoccupied with getting back into school and living a life before motherhood that she realized approximately 40,000 feet up how unprepared she was. The baby had no place to sleep, nor clothes to wear, nor roof over its head. Nothing.

Her father’s awaited her on the other side of the gate. She barely greeted him, was barely outside of her father’s arms when she pulled back with fear in her eyes.

“What’s wrong, princess?”

“Dad, I have nothing.” She fumbled for words. “I’m not prepared. I don’t have a crib or a house or clothes. Dad, what am I going to do?” She was breathless and gulped at the air to refill her lungs.

His smile was familiar, welcome after hours on a plane with strangers and a fortnight away from home. Even though he chuckled at her antics ( _they aren’t antics, they are very reasonable worrie_ s) it was comforting. “Calm down, honey. It’ll all be okay. I’m sure your mother has some old baby clothes of yours around.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Everything will be okay.”

“But Dad-”

“No,” he stopped her. “No, don’t worry about it. You just got back on American soil.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s get you home, get some food and some Zzz’s in you.” David grabbed her carry-on from her shoulder and urged her to the exit. “How was your flight? How was your trip? Tell me all about it.”

The inquiry proved to be a successful distraction. Emma spent the entire ride home recounting her time across the pond. She told him about the stained glass windows of Westminster Abbey and the food at Robin Hood’s Pub by the flat. She filled the hour and a half back home with tales and amendments to other stories. By the time they pulled up on the street in front of their apartment, Emma had forgotten her worries.

“Oh, and I got you and Mom something,” she offhandedly told her father as the walk in the front door. She started digging around in her bag for their souvenir – real, genuine Earl Grey tea her parents both enjoyed far too much – but her mother’s voice halted her in her search.

“Is that my Emma?” she called from the kitchen. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Mary Margaret appeared from behind the counter. She held her arms open wide. “C’mere.”

Emma’s face broke out into a wide grin and she caught her mother up in her arms. “Mom.” And just like when she greeted her father, the worries came back. “Mom, I have nothing. I’m not ready for this kid, I’m not ready to go back to school. I’m just not ready.”

Her mother’s face fell for a second, but the look disappeared as soon as it manifested. “Honey, you’re jetlagged. Go upstairs and take a nap. I’ll make you a sandwich afterwards and then we can talk about this rationally.” Conspiratorially, she whispered, “I also want to hear all about your trip.”

Numbly, Emma took her bag upstairs ( _I’ll give them their souvenir later_ ) because now that she was actually home, fatigue drooped her eyelids and her bed called out her name. She did, though, manage to unearth her phone from her bag before falling onto her bed. Her eyes grew heavier as she turned her phone back on.

The incessant chiming of her phone stunned her from unconsciousness temporarily. Sixteen texts and a skype request from Killian lit up her screen. Groaning, Emma had barely enough energy to send him a message back. _Home. Tired. Okay. Night._

It’d have to suffice for now. She nodded off shortly after and woke refreshed about an hour or so later. It was early evening now, somewhere around dinner time or bedtime on Emma’s body clock. To be honest, since she stepped foot off the plane, she’d had no clue what time it was. Only that the sun was still up, but slowly sinking.

Like a drunkard, Emma stumbled down the stairs, narrowly catching herself on the railing three time. Her mom was seated on the couch, sipping at some tea, but turned her head when she heard the stairs creak.

“Hey there,” Emma rasps.

“Hi honey,” Mary Margaret said quietly. She stood, observing her daughter, trying to read her mood over her mug. “You hungry?”

Emma nodded. “Can you make me some macaroni? Or a grilled cheese?” She wiped at her eyes, ridding them of sleep. “I just really want cheese.”

Mary Margaret laughed. “I can do both. Why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk.”

Doing as she said, Emma waited for the clanking and clattering her mother made as she retrieved the appropriate pots and pans to quiet down. She had no way to predict what topic her mother would choose to lead with, but she had a good idea of where the conversation would start.

“So,” her mother led when the pot of water was on the stove. “You were in the hospital.”

Inhaling through her nose, Emma prepared herself for the storm of a response sure to come. “I was.”

“Did you lie to me about what Mulan said?”

“No, no, not at all!” That launched her into the entire story, Milah included because she had been holding that all to herself and she just couldn’t any longer. This was her mom, the woman who had literally been there since the beginning.

Her mother listened carefully, uncharacteristically didn’t interrupt her, merely sips at her cup of tea.

“I am fine.” Emma ended her tale firmly. “I feel fine. Sore and tired, but fine.” She peeked over her mother’s shoulder, standing on the footrest of the barstool and sitting back down. “And hungry.”

Her mother rolled her eyes and set her mug down ( _so_ that’s _where I inherited it from_ ). “Your sandwich is almost ready.”

“Is it crunchy?”

“Yes.” Spatula in hand, her mother glared at her. “Don’t change the subject. I want you to be extra careful until you have the baby. Maybe go back and see Mulan to make sure everything’s okay.” Sliding the sandwich on a plate and then setting it in front of her daughter, Mary Margaret sent her a concerned motherly frown. “I just want you to be careful.”

“I will, Mom,” Emma said before biting into her grilled cheese and releasing a groan. “Oh my god, this is amazing.”

Her mother snickered. “Save some room for the mac and cheese.”

“There’s always room in here,” she muttered, patting at her stomach. “Pudge is insatiable.” Wiping some crumbs from the corners of her mouth, Emma broached her top concern. “So, um, I realized when I was coming home that I am in no way ready for this baby.”

“You said that earlier. What d’you mean? You’ve been preparing for months now.”

“Yeah, no, not in that sense.” Emma popped the last corner of crust into her mouth and swallowed. “I’m mentally prepared but, like, I have no clothes or anything and Dad said you might’ve kept some of my baby clothes?”

Nodding, Mary Margaret took the pot of noodles off the stove. “I’m sure I’ve got some in storage somewhere. I know I kept your favorite onesie. Oh, Emma.” She turned around and her eyes glistened. “Emma baby, I have this picture. Wait, lemme go find it.”

Her mother fluttered off into her room, leaving Emma to listen to the rattle and jangling of Mary Margaret shifting things around in her room. In the meantime, her stomach still rumbled, though not as loudly as before. She stood up from the chair and helped herself to some macaroni. She was halfway through shoveling her first serving in her mouth, fork hovering in her mouth and not even bothering to sit again, when her mother reappeared.

There was a small rectangle photo in the hand that wasn’t covering her mouth. Mary Margaret was looking at it with fondness. She stayed silent as she handed it to Emma.

The picture was of her. Her and her mom. She was maybe a year old, if that, wearing a yellow onesie with a duck on a boat printed on her chest. Mary Margaret’s hair was shorter, curled around her ears in the picture. Their smiles were identical, little wispy blonde hairs falling in her face and her mother’s dark hair quite the same.

“Your father gave me three of that exact onesie for Christmas the year you were born,” Mary Margaret muttered. “I’m pretty sure you’d already worn the original out.”

Emma stared at the picture. Tears sprung unbidden to the corners of her eyes. She squeaked out “Mom” and Mary Margaret’s arms encircled her.

They stayed like that for a little while: mother and daughter embracing, a bowl of macaroni in one hand and the photograph in the other behind Mary Margaret’s back. Her mother ended the hug, leaning back to wipe away her little girl’s tears. “Yeah, I’ll go see what’s in storage soon,” she whispered. “I have to pick up some stuff for the beginning of the school year anyways.”

Sniffing, Emma nodded and took one more bite of the macaroni, causing herself to giggle. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Do you have any plans for the day?” she asked, moving the dirty dishes to the sink. “Unpacking and laundry? Hanging out?”

“I should go see Graham or call Ruby or something,” she thought aloud, “but I’m just too tired.”

“Makes sense.” Nodding sagely, Mary Margaret started cleaning up the dishes from lunch ( _or linner? What time is it even?_ ) “Call or text your father. We’ll have an early dinner so you can get to bed early.”

0000

“Tell me everything.”

“Yeah, Em, give us all the dirty deets.”

Emma was leaning against her headboard, still tired from the day’s second nap, her phone balanced on her stomach.

“Who else is there, Rubes?”

“It’s Belle, sweetheart,” Ruby answered. A soft “Hi Emma” comes from a different part of the phone, further away and in a different key. “You know, your future roommates when you get your act together?”

Emma laughed. _Of course._ “Riiight.”

“So, c’mon! Who proposed first? When’s the wedding?”

She was glad she was alone in her room because a blush flamed across her face. She was devoted to keeping some secrets, especially about that one night in Killian’s room. In fact, if she wasn’t so enthusiastic about the entire trip, Emma wouldn’t have told a single soul what went down in London. Her heart was full to bursting. Like a balloon, she feared letting go of one secret, one small detail, with cause her to deflate, take away the specialness of it all.

_Basics. Tell them the basics._

The pause she took before answering had both Ruby and Belle squealing, Ruby more so than her roommate.

“Emma, you have to tell us everything!”

“I’ve read sex while pregnant is amazing.”

“Yeah, what she said! How was it?!”

“EMMA!”

Laughter emitted from Emma’s side of the conversation. “Guys, calm down. I can’t get a word in edgewise.” Her fingers dragged against the fabric at her stomach. Pudge was doing well, much more active since coming home, for which Emma was grateful. Every kick or shift of the child in her stomach comforted and reminded her that he (or she, as Killian keeps insisting) was healthy and alive.

But Emma was getting to the point where she was ready for this entire experience to be done. Lying on her bed was the only hobby of hers that she could really do well any more. Well, that and eating. She’d always been good at that.

“One question at a time,” Emma requested her friends. “And I may or may not answer it.”

Ruby groaned. “What fun are you?”

“All sorts of fun. But I’m tired and still suffering from jet lag. So ask away or I’m going to hang up and take a nap.”

“Did you visit the museum of history?” Belle asked. _Always the intellectual._ She might easily sway under Ruby’s influence, but her first concern had always been knowledge. “Or Elizabeth Tower?”

“Both.” She was thankful that Belle started out with the easier questions, the purely factual questions. _Yes, I did go, I have the tickets to prove it._ Granted, Belle and her weren’t as close as her and Ruby – the glares and judging glances Belle sent her way earlier in the year weren’t all forgiven – so Emma felt it only natural, testing the waters. She liked the brunette for that reason specifically: she wasn’t gaudy or assumptive. “The museum has fossils like you wouldn’t believe, and I’m pretty sure the world’s oldest tree stump. It was literally huge and I think part of it sa-”

“Emma Ruth Nolan, you and I both know neither of us want to hear about any of the sights of merry old England except for one.”

Her eyes squinted at the phone screen. “What does that mean?”

Belle whispered, “I wanna hear about the sights.”

Emma could almost imagine the stink-eye Ruby was giving her. Belle’s silence was all she needed to confirm it. “Christ almighty, Emma,” Ruby sighed in exasperation. “Killian?”

“What about him?”

Ruby moaned and Emma distinctly heard the sound of skin slapping skin. She could only assume Ruby hit herself in the forehead in frustration. _Or maybe Belle hit her. Brownie points to Belle._ “I so swear to god, Emma, I will punch you in the face when I see you next if you don’t give me something. It’s like crack cocaine or something, I’m an addict, INDULGE ME.”

“Then ask me a question, Ruby.”

“Did you finally fuck that boxer? There is only one correct answer, so think carefully.”

Belle admonished Ruby, “it’s her life, don’t chastise her for anything,” before Emma deigned them an answer. She told her friends that, _no, no wedding, don’t be absurd. Liam was a doll, but no more so than Killian_ and if she could, she’d’ve stayed. She told them about her brief stint in the hospital, to which they immediately gasped and pledged to rush to her side.

“I’m fine, really. Just hanging out in bed until I need to move.”

“Which’ll be when exactly?” Belle asked “I want to know when I should plan on not sleeping again. You know, stock up. Although recent studies find that sleeping in doesn’t actu-”

“I meant actually moving, like using muscles and sitting up.” She exhaled, reminding herself of yet another thing she was unsure of. “I still don’t know if I’m moving in with you guys.”

It was quiet on the other end of the line for so long that Emma tapped on her phone screen to make sure the connection hadn’t been lost. “You guys still there?”

“I’m assuming you haven’t really talked to your parents yet,” Ruby hazarded.

“I’ve been sleeping most of the day.” Her friends remained noiseless. “Why, what happened?”

“Well,” Belle started slowly, “it is getting to be somewhat of a crunch time. You know, moving and housing-wise. And we were a little low on rent this month, so we called your parents while you were away and-”

“It’s official!” Ruby finished her thought for her. “You’re living with us!”

Emma was astounded. “You talked to my parents while I was gone?”

“We’re sorry, Emma-”

“I’m not.”

“But you’re officially back in school and you need a place to sleep. You and the baby. And Ruby said your mom and her talked about it when you came down to visit, so it only made sense.”

“Please don’t be angry,” Belle pled meekly.

“I’m not angry,” Emma found herself saying. “I’m just surprised. You guys were really proactive.”

“Just come live with us, dammit!” Ruby interjected, causing Emma and Belle to break into giggles.

“I apparently already am,” Emma assured her. The phone vibrated on her stomach, a text coming through to successfully distract her from all the theoretical plans and parties Ruby’s scheduling on their behalf. It was from Killian, of course, reminding her to make contact once she wakes up (which she hasn’t really). She muttered a curse beneath her breath and quickly responded.

_Sorry. Been home a while. Forgot between numerous naps. Safe and sound._

His answer came back almost immediately. She could practically hear his whine. _Swannnn._

Emma craned her neck to look at the clock on her nightstand. Mentally adding five hours, she figured out that he should’ve fallen asleep long ago.

_I’m sorry. Pregnancy brain, I guess. Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning._

_You’re worth losing sleep over. ‘Til morning._

Belle saying her name reminded Emma how bad she was at multitasking these days.

“Emma, are you still there? Is everything okay?”

Humming, Emma focused again on the phone call. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You said shit really quiet and then you didn’t make a sound for a while,” Ruby said. “Are you distracted?”

She shrugged, then remembered that, thankfully, they weren’t having this conversation face to face. “Yeah, no, sorry. I’m still tired. I’ll talk to my parents and text you guys later, okay?”

Her friends ( _and new roommates, I guess_ ) agreed and wished her well before Emma hung up. Soon after, nap number three became inevitable and Emma snuggled into her pillow, ready for oblivion.

0000

“Okay, so why did I come again?”

“You were the only person who was a, available, and b, in town.”

She picked up a green onesie from a hanger. It was cute, for sure, but a look at the price tag had her rethinking how cute it actually was.

“Can’t we go to Granny’s and you wait until your lady friends are around to do this?”

Emma rolled her eyes and glowered at Graham a couple steps behind her. “Humor me.”

He huffed and softly kicked one of the stuffed animals on the bottom shelf. “You owe me.”

“I know, I know.”

She did feel bad, she really did. But her mother was at some professional development seminar and her dad was working and no one else in town really wanted to deal with her except for Ashley, whose home with a sick Lexi, and Graham.

Besides, she missed him. Which is why he was stuck perusing the local superstore baby aisles with her.

“C’mon, can’t I look at the bikes or the movies or something?” he droned again.

“Do you have your phone on you?” He was sheepish when he denied it. “Then how am I supposed to find you?”

“Walk the aisles?” He added an adorable little smile to the end of his suggestion, hoping to sway her in his favor.

Emma sighed and rubbed her forehead in frustration. “You know what, I’m done here. I’ll ask Ashley for some of Lexi’s hand-me-downs.” She hung up the absurdly priced outfit ( _because, seriously, any kid is going to outgrow it in a matter of months, if not weeks, why so much money?_ ) and waved him back to the entrance. “Let’s go.”

Graham pumped his fist up in the air, expressing his victory, and Emma rolled her eyes again. They made their way out of the store, Graham chatting away like an excited child. He missed her just as much as she had him, Emma knew, but, jesus, she could hardly keep up with his one-sided conversation.

“I can tell you more when we go to Granny’s, but I have to make a quick stop at the hardware store,” he said.

Widening her eyes, her laugh started from deep within her and bubbled up until she physically had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Graham’s “What? I need a new hammer!” made her laugh even harder, had her using his body to steady herself.

“You?” she asked incredulously. “You need a new hammer? Okay, Thor, let me get this straight.”

“Em, I’ve helped your father fix light fixtures. I’ve helped half the town build decks.”

“Yeah, so have I,” she reminded him, “but that doesn’t make me Bob the Builder.”

This time, he rolled his eyes. Making sure her outburst was finished, Graham took her hand in his and led her the few storefronts down to the hardware store. “It’ll take a second. Then you can buy me some wings or something.”

The old man who ran the establishment was awfully friendly when the chime of the door ushered them in. Graham left her at the entrance, the proprietor leading him away with rushed words in an accent, and keeping Emma to watch the aisles of nails and screws. And hammers.

“What in the world is he doing?” she asked herself aloud. Emma wandered the store, looked at the shelves until Graham returned. He was dragging her toward the back of the store, her comments that the hammers were at the front unheard, into a smaller room. One glance around showed her it was some sort of woodworking room. Sawdust coated the floor. There was an entire wall of saws and hammers and other building materials.

But in the middle of the room, underneath the only open window in the woodshop, was a crib of sorts. Smaller, more compact and basket-like, than the ones that lined the store aisles, but more detailed. A closer look showed carvings in the side: waning moons, brilliant suns, forest animals all along the edge.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It still needs a bit of staining, but it should be sturdy enough.” Emma nearly forgot she wasn’t alone in the room. Graham appeared at her side, his hands in his pockets and a shy expression on his face. When he noticed her staring at him, he nodded to the old man, even further back in the doorway between the workshop and the store. “Geppetto was nice enough to help me out.”

“You made this?” Her eyes flitted back over the bassinet ( _that’s the word.)_ “You barely know the difference between a nail and a screw.”

“I’m hurt, Em,” he said. His arm wound around her shoulder and shook her into his side. “I heard through the grapevine you weren’t really into the whole baby shower scene and you were hopelessly behind in supplies, so I asked Geppetto if he wouldn’t mind teaching me.” Her jaw was still hanging and he interpreted it differently than pure surprise. “Look, I swear it’s okay for the baby. I told Ashley about it and she had Lexi stand in it and look, it’s still together.”

“You made this?” She repeated herself.

No words accompanied Graham’s nod. She was thankful that one of her oldest friends understood her enough to know she needed a minute to absorb this new information. Because once she did, she was so far gone. His arm was the only thing keeping her from crumbling down on herself. Emma turned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

“You made this. For me.”

“Well, for your baby, actually.” His hand caressed up and down her back, trying to calm her by any means necessary. Which was why he tried to lighten the mood by saying, “I mean, you can try and sleep in there if you want to, but I don’t think you’ll fit in it. Just don’t relegate the little one to your sock drawer.” Emma chuckled into his chest, but she was sure all he could feel was her shaking profusely. “Are you okay?”

Emma sniffed. “Perfect.” She leaned away, but kept him in her arms. “How did you know I hadn’t even thought about sleeping arrangements yet?”

Graham shrugged. “It was the first thing I thought of, so I, naturally, thought it’d be the last thing you’d think of. That’s how we work.”

Her laugh was watery from her tears, but she clutched him closer to her once more. “That’s how we work.”

He pushed her back for a second. “I was legitimately concerned your child would be forced to live in a sock drawer for the first years of its life. I can’t have that.”

“I’m sure she’ll be grateful.”

His eyes lit up. “You’re having a girl?”

“No, I don’t know.” She looked back to the bassinet, finding more small details with every new angle. “It slips between the two all the time.”

“Bugger,” he muttered. “I hope you know I’m going to spoil this kid either way. Cool Uncle Graham is going be their favorite.”

Emma laughed. “I’m beginning to question how much I’m going to be needed in their life. In between Cool Uncle Graham and Cool Aunt Ruby, I won’t even see him.”

Shrugging again, Graham said. “Sounds like every new parents’ dream.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Imagine it: you could actually sleep through the night. Take a shower and whatnot. Be a functioning human. Maybe even go to class.”

Giving him a sarcastic glance, Emma left his side to gently push at the bassinet. It swayed a comforting rhythm, back and forth and back and forth. Under her breath, she hummed a song, a lullaby she couldn’t place. It reminded her of the ocean, with swells and flows to breathe.

“Though maybe you and Killian could survive without Cool Uncle Graham and Cool Aunt Ruby.”

“Huh?”

“You and Killian,” Graham reiterated.

Emma cocked her head to the side. “Why would you say that?”

Graham’s smile was soft, as if he was finally been let in on a secret he’d known for some time. “You know you don’t have a chance with me, Ems. That guy has been around since day one and he’s not going to leave until your kid graduates college.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he assured her. “I know because if I were in the same situation, I wouldn’t.” Inhaling deeply, he prepared himself to drop a bomb. “Look, Emma, I know you think you aren’t all that, but Killian’s the first bloke where I think you you’re starting believe you are. And I like that. I like him.”

She scoffed regardless. “He’ll be happy to hear that. Last time you came to visit he was feeling a bit threatened.”

Guffawing, he doubled over and slapped his knees. “Oh my sweet darling naïve Emma. Any person with eyes knows the man for you is that boxer.”

It threw her off. Emma blushed and returned her gaze to the bassinet her closest friend had handmade for her son or daughter.

“Oh god, you’re not crying again, are you?” he asked, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Oh god, I am not properly equipped for this. Give me your phone, I’ll call Jones.”

It might be tinged with sadness, but Emma chuckled. If there was one thing she hoped her baby inherited from her, it was that Cool Uncle Graham would always make them laugh.


	26. Chapter 26

The roles were reversed this time: Emma anxiously looking at the arrival boards and Killian somewhere on the other side of customs. It was weird. He had to come over earlier than everyone else needed to move in – practice and other boxing team shenanigans, she was sure – but he arrived even earlier just to spend more time at home with her, cutting his summer holiday even shorter. He even offered to help her move in later.

(“Your father’s strong, I’ll give you that, but, Swan, who’s going to take the boxes off him when his back eventually fails?”

“Killian!”

“What? C’mon, love, you must admit I’m easier on the eyes than him.”

“Killiannnnnn.”)

Her feet still hurt and she could honestly go back to bed for hours, but she was nervous. Hoping she was more observant than he was in Heathrow, Emma scanned the crowd again, probably the fourth time in as many minutes. This time around, though, she spotted his dark hair appeared from the double doors hiding customs, messy from sleeping on the plane.

_He’s so adorable._

Biting her lips to keep from screaming and running for him, Emma waited for him to see her. His hand ruffled through his hair and adjusted the strap of his carry-on bag. Even from far away, his eyes were blue pinpoints shining through fatigue.

Emma hesitatingly held up her hand, frozen in a wave. Killian spotted her and in a weird scene that would most likely be slowed down in the movie of her life, he sprinted to her. His bag banged against the backs of his leg as he dodged the groups of loved ones greeting their own. He slowed down enough not to knock her down, but he did squeeze her into his body.

“Oh god, Emma love, I missed you,” he mumbled in her hair. Emma buried her face further in his neck, breathed deeply in the scent of him…of Killian. And, in a move that threw her for a loop, one of his hands fell to rest on her stomach. “And you too, Pudge. I missed you too.”

“Oh god,” she sniffed. Emma pulled back, wiping her eyes. “You haven’t been here for ten minutes and you’re already making me cry.”

Killian chuckled. “No, don’t shed tears for me, darling.” He swiped his thumb beneath her eyes, caught at the tears before they fell. “I bristle at the thought of a woman losing her heart.” And then he smirked. “Unless it's over me.”

She snorted then. “You asshole,” she muttered, a smile growing on her face. A few tears rolled down her cheeks still. “God, I’m a mess, sorry. How are you? How was your flight? Where’s your stuff?”

“Nosy Swan.” His finger tapped her the tip of her nose. “Come now. We’ve got the walk to baggage carousel and an entire ride back to campus for me to regale you with stories.”

Her parents had reprimanded her for even thinking about picking Killian up and taking him back to campus. A recent trip to Mulan’s office confirmed what she already knew: the baby was coming, sooner rather than later. The more relaxed and comfortable she was, the safer and better off she would be in the long run. Mary Margaret kept telling, no, _insisting_ her daughter take it easy and hang out at home until she needed to move into her room with Ruby and Belle, maybe even stay home until the baby came.

But very few times had Emma actually listened to her parents these days, especially when it came to Killian.

They were walking out of the airport, Emma rolling one of his suitcases behind her, when he said, “Liam’s sent something for you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Come now, Swan. Wait until we get back to campus.” Emma pouted, throwing all of her willpower and what was left of her dignity into the expression. He sighed. “It’s in my bag. I can’t get it quite yet.”

“Ugh, fine,” she relented, punctuated by the slam of the driver’s door.

They talked animatedly on the short drive back to campus. Emma helped move his things back into his room (the same room, the one that had become a second home-away-from-home in the early days of their friendship). Two beds still sat there, one bunked over the other. Killian climbed up the ladder in search of any faults in the mattress before he went about dressing it fir sleep.

“Robbie’s back,” Emma casually commented, kicking at a pile of clothes on the ground. “Or so it seems.”

Killian grunted from atop his mattress. “I don’t think he left for the summer. I believe he’s been working with the orientation office.”

“Then why didn’t you stay?”

He hopped down from the bed. “I did stay. Longer than customary. To be with you.”

Tilting her head to the side, she sarcastically uttered, “How sweet.”

“I know.” _Like his ego isn’t big enough already._ But he rested his hand over his heart all the same. “I’m quite the heartthrob, or so I’ve been told.”

Emma hummed neither in agreement nor disagreement. She set her hands out in front of her. “Where’s my present?” she asks Killian.

Shaking his head, he laughed. “So needy.” His bag was on the floor in front of the closet, where he knelt down and began rummaging through it. “It’s not much, hardly anything really, but he recalled our parents singing this to us when we were children.” He revealed a tape, a bonafide tape meant to be played in a tape recorder, in his hand. Killian got a far-off look in his eyes, looking down at the tape as he handed it off to her. “I haven’t heard it in years.”

“Obviously, or else you would’ve transferred it onto a CD.”

Killian’s gaze was scornful and sad. “Liam played it a lot right after the accident to help me to sleep.”

_And now I feel like an asshole._

“Killian,” Emma said softly. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

He shrugged it off. “You didn’t know.” Still, he placed the tape in her hand and folded her fingers over it, protecting his cherished memory. “Just take it. Maybe Pudge will like it as much as I did.”

“He’ll love it, I’m sure,” she assured him, carefully tucking it into her bag.

“ _She_ will.” Emma rolled her eyes at his insistence. Killian smirked and pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Mark my words, Swan darling. Mark my words.”

She scrunched up her nose in distaste, both at his insistence and the silence that followed. There was nothing left for her to do but head home. Yet, she hesitated.

He noticed.

“Stay a bit,” Killian asked of her. He gestured to the couch, still there and still grungy. “It won’t be as comfortable, but it’ll be nostalgic.”

“Who said I wanted to be nostalgic?”

“No one.” Scratching away at the nape of his neck, Killian settled himself against the arm of the couch. “I didn’t want to watch the new episodes of Young Justice alone.”

“Oh,” Emma said. “I can do that. But I need to get on the road before dark.”

He grinned as he waved her to the couch. “I suppose that can be arranged.” He stood and offered her a hand to ease herself onto the cushion. But, for a brief second, when he was right behind her, Killian whispered, “Though it would be nicer if you stayed,” in her ear.

“I know, Jones, I know. But what Mama Nolan wants, Mama Nolan gets,” Emma stated simply.

“She only wants what’s best for you,” he said as he relaxed behind her on the couch. “And for once, I agree with her.” She craned her neck and stared at him. He looked taken aback when his eyes met hers. “What? No offense, darling, but you’re huge. I was going to suggest you call me every quarter hour on the drive back just so I know you haven’t gone into labor.”

Emma chortled, causing her to ease deeper into his chest. “Don’t worry. When the time comes, you’ll be the second person I call.” When he stayed silent and a glance back at his face showed he looked wounded, she shrugged. “Hey, she might be a maniac, but I’m calling my mom first. She knows her stuff.”

Killian’s chuckles vibrated through her body as his toe pressed a button on his laptop. The cartoon sprung to life, vibrant colors and screeches filling the room.

0000

It was a hectic two weeks of packing, unpacking, repacking, and countless near-breakdowns, but she was ( _finally_ ) in her new home with everyone who mattered most in her life, save for her parents, who needed to get back on the road. Ruby had been helpfully absent all day; Belle was taking a well-deserved break and messing about in the kitchen, having a nice cup of tea. Graham, who’d driven down with some of Emma’s stuff, made polite conversation with her while Emma and Killian moved boxes into the empty room.

 _They could be something good for each other,_ she thought _. Quiet, reserved Belle could tame the wanderlust in him._

It was a selfish thought disguised as an attempt to better her friends’ lives though, but Cool Uncle Graham needed to be around to claim his title.

Emma breathed deeply and sighed. They were alone in her room, her and Killian, her hands on her lower back to relieve some of the pressure that had built there over the day. She wasn’t used to moving her body or boxes this much. That, plus the excitement of the day, had her wishing everyone else would leave and she could just take a nap.

“Alright there, love?” he asked as he gently shut the door. A glimpse at his expression showed his concern, hoping to avoid a repeat of her trip to a London hospital, but ready ever the same.

“Yeah, fine,” she calmed him. “Just sore. And tired. And ready to be done with this entire thing.”

He guided her to the mattress that came with the room, sat her down on the edge and knelt between her legs.

“What are you doing?” she asked, anxious and confused.

His hands dragged down her legs, squeezing her calf muscles and her feet. She winced. Pain, good pain, rocketed up her leg, like she was stretching a muscle after a long time of disuse. “You need to rest and you won’t do that unless someone makes you.”

“I’m fine, I swear.” But her eyes fluttered shut and her lips fell apart, silent appreciation of the actions he took. _Yeah, totally fine._

He straightened his spine, but still stayed stooping on the floor. “It’s okay to admit weakness, Swan,” he said softly. “I thought you would know that by now.” His fingers pulsed around her feet and a smile grew on his face. “You are human. An amazing and admirable human, but human nonetheless.”

She didn’t know what came over her. This wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. And maybe it was just the domesticity of the entire situation: he was helping her move in to her first apartment before heading off to boxing practice for the afternoon, almost like he was going to the office or something. She was pregnant, albeit it not with his child, they weren’t even together technically, but this…

This felt _right_.

So it was only right, only natural, that she leant forward and kissed him. His hand came up and cradled her cheek, both of hers doing the same to his face. It was different than the past times. There was no uncertainty like there was when they watched Young Justice. There was no sense of relief like there was in London. There was only happiness wan warmth and a feeling of perfection.

_Third time’s the charm._

When they pulled back, he quietly asked, “What’d I do?”

“I was just…I don’t know.” She stumbled through words in her head, trying to find what she actually meant. “I like you. A lot.”

“Emma, darling, we’ve already established that,” Killian chuckled. He curled some wayward hair of hers behind her ear. “What I meant is what did I do that finally, _finally_ made you accept that you love me?”

Raising an eyebrow and leaning away from him, Emma gaped. “I didn’t say anything about love.”

“Not yet you haven’t. You don’t need to.” His finger lightly struck her on the nose, quickly followed by a peck of his lips. She giggled. “I’ve said it before: you’re an open book to me, Swan.”

She imagined her face got sappy at that – her shoulders slumped in the presence of relief and familiarity of his smugness. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Aye, but you love it.” Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Killian was beside her on the bed in a flash, drawing her into his arms, and transformed her words into laughter. “You do love it. You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready, but you do and that’s all I need to know.”

He was the one to initiate the kiss this time, rolled her back onto the mattress and peppered her with presses of his lips to hers.

When her lungs could no longer deprive themselves of respite, Emma scooted back on the mattress and rested her head on the pillow. Her chest heaved, trying to return to some semblance of normal breathing and heart rates, but Killian’s continued ministrations – kisses to her cheek, her neck, all the way down her chest – kept her breathing hard.

“I know we can’t do much for now, so I get it if you don’t really want to have…” In between the lapses of her thoughts, Emma struggled to find terminology that didn’t make her feel like she was in middle school, trying to make her case to the boy she liked. “A thing. With me. I get it.”

The sigh that fanned itself over her breasts had a hint of an attitude to it, and Emma opened her heavy eyes ( _when had they closed?_ ) to meet his. “Emma, you picked me up from the airport. We’ve met each other’s families. I’m helping you move in and we’re snogging in your bed. We’ve been a ‘thing,’ as you so eloquently put it, for quite some time.”

She laughed breathlessly. “Sorry if my need for a real definition is so demanding.”

Killian’s forehead lightly fell to her shoulder as he said, “Darling, you’ve been nothing but demanding and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Emma hummed. “What can I say? I like things the way I like them.”

“And I love you more for it.”

Shocks ran up and down her spine, but they didn’t make her rigid. They warmed her body, from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. She might have had a minor freak-out when he assumed she loved him ( _which she does not, does not, does not_ ), but hearing those words in that order from him…they had a much more positive effect on her.

Crawling up to lie next to her, Killian asked, “Y’okay?”

“Yeah.” She leaned toward him, coming to place her head on his chest. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

His answer was a kiss. First on the top of her head, and then on her lips. It was a rocky road they’d driven, but she was beginning to think the hard part was over.


	27. Chapter 27

That Saturday, she woke up with a sore back and sleep in her eyes. Classes started on Monday, the weather was still warm, and she and Ruby had plans to get books and school supplies that afternoon.

She was standing in the shower, hoping the warm water would ease the ache in her muscles, when she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

0000

He got out of practice, was walking out of the gym when his phone vibrated. He checked it, pulled it from his bag, and found the list of notifications on the screen goes on for forever. Six missed calls from Ruby, five from Belle, a few from the Nolans’ house number, and even one from Liam himself, despite the five hour time difference.

But it was the one call and voicemail from Emma that sent his heart speeding.

Unconsciously, his gait sped up, his bag hitting against his thigh as he hurried to get back to his room. To get to _her_.

The phone was at his ear and he listened to her voicemail, sent nearly three hours before. Her voice was pained, a little breathless, but otherwise it was just nerves. That was all he could hear in her voice.

“Killian,” she panted. “Hey, it’s me and I know you’re probably in practice right now, but” she moaned, he could hear Mrs. Nolan and another female voice, maybe Ruby, in the background. “I know you’re in practice right now, but I promised you’d be the second call. We’re – if you could maybe come down to the hospital.” She paused and took a deep breath before her voice lowered. “Killian, please. This kid’s coming and I know it’s not yours, but dear god, I want you here. I _need_ you here.”

He didn’t listen to the other messages, figuring at least the ones from Ruby were along the same lines. He immediately called Robin, who, thank god, answered on the first ring.

“Robin, mate,” Killian said, not allowing any sort of greeting. “I need you to drive me to hospital.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Emma’s in labor.”

“So?”

“You fuckwad, get your keys and meet me by your car.” His phone buzzed at his ear. Another text message from Ruby made its way through and he groaned. “I’ll explain everything on the way there.”

“But I’m with Regina-”

“I swear to god, Locksley,” Killian growled, “you can get back to your date after you get me to my girlfriend.”

“You’re official?”

“Fucking fuck, DRIVE ME THERE.”

“Alright, I’ll meet you down-”

Killian hung up and broke into a run, straight-out-of-practice muscles be damned, because he couldn’t get there fast enough.

“Long haul, Swan,” he muttered to himself. “We’re in this for the long haul.”

0000

It hurt.

That was all she could really register. Time was irrelevant, but even Emma knew it had to be in the hours now. She was hungry but she couldn’t eat. She was tired but she couldn’t sleep. Her back hurt, she was sweaty and sore, and everything was on fire.

Some doctor was standing in until Mulan could make arrangements, could get herself or someone she trusted in her stead down to Boston. Her mother was next to her, brushing hair away from her face and holding her hand, kept murmuring _it’s gonna be okay, baby, you can do this, I know it hurts, but it’ll be over soon._

That was a lie if she’d ever heard one.

There were tears streaming down her face, she could feel them, but she wasn’t conscious of actually crying because of the sheer level of pain. It hurt, building and building, agony on top of what she was already experiencing and all she wanted was for this to be over, _please be over_.

And then there was a brief moment of clarity. It was like she was drunk, sort of like the night this child was conceived, where she kept drinking and drinking and all of a sudden, she saw 20/20. In the past, it was her decision: she liked this Neal guy, liked him more than any naïve crush she’d held in high school, and he liked her back. He had her hand in his, was pulling her into the R.A.’s room and shutting the door and, _yes, I’m okay with this. This is going to be how my happy ending starts._

In the present, it was her realization: this pain would stop and once it did, she would be a mother. _A mother._ A teenage mother that statistics and health classes warned you about. But it was okay, because she wasn’t alone. Her parents loved her, there was Ruby and Belle and she was back at school, she could do this.

Her last conscious thought was, strangely enough, how she wished Killian was here instead of her mother. She did call him, called him second just as she promised, but he hadn’t contacted her since. Not that she’d really had the time to check her messages or anything.

But he’d been in this right from the start. Knew before she did, kept her safe across the ocean, stood up for her in front of everyone else who couldn’t stand the sight of her. Killian was hers: her boyfriend, her friend, her partner-in-crime. Her Killian. It just felt weird that he didn’t see it through.

And then it went dark.

It hurt no more.


	28. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry (not really) to have left you on such a cliff hanger. I posted that last chapter as I was walking out to the airport. But here it is, the epilogue. I hope you all enjoy it and enjoyed the story. I do have a one-shot written already that I plan on posting soonish in this universe and I'm always open to more ideas. This AU was my life for nearly three years: I'm not likely to say goodbye yet.

When she finally deems it an appropriate wake up hour, she stretches: her arms above her head and her toes reaching for the edge of the mattress. You’d think she would’ve gotten used to that whole ‘fall back’ gift, but it still feels like the ‘spring forward’ time steal.

Or maybe it’s the newborn who’s kept her up more often than not during the past six months.

She can only imagine how rough the actual springing forward’s going to be once it hits.

Speaking of the little devil herself, Emma can hear her beginning to stir in her bassinet. She scoots further down her bed, just enough so she can push the edge of it, set it rocking in an attempt to give her a few more minutes to herself.

It works, Audrey’s whimpers calming for the time being.

Emma army-crawls back up her bed and reaches for her phone on the nightstand. Her fingers scrape the photo frame nearby, the one that holds a picture of her holding her daughter and smiling. Audrey’s wearing a onesie with a duck on a boat, the hand-me-down from Emma herself. Her mother keeps the two nearly-identical pictures side-by-side in her parents’ bedroom. Killian’s behind the camera, snapping away happily while Emma tends to Audrey one afternoon after class.

(It’s her favorite picture for every one of those reasons.)

She finally finds her phone. The light is harsh, makes her squint at the screen bearing the lullaby – the one Liam played for Killian after the accident – Audrey cannot fall asleep without hearing. She exits out of her music and scrolls through the email notifications, seeing if she’s missed anything important during her nap. _Because her history paper had her up until 2 and Audrey had her up at 4 and it’s barely 7:30 now._

She doesn’t sleep much anymore, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Her phone dings with a text notification and it has her blushing and burying her head in her pillow.

_Good morning, love._

He sends her one every morning, never with an explanation. She’d asked him once about and his reply was something about he just felt like it, _can’t I wish my lovely girlfriend a pleasant morning?_

This morning, unlike all the others, doesn’t end with _love._

_Happy one year._

That sends her for a loop. They haven’t been together for a year, barely four months.

_Or five._

She quickly texts him _one year what?_ back, but then Audrey’s making more noises and she doesn’t want to wake up Belle again this week. She leaves the warmth of her covers for a minute to gather her daughter in her arms and bring her, cradled against her chest, back into the bed.

This is her life now: classes and diapers and date nights in the living room between feedings. It’s not exactly how she imagined sophomore year of college.

Then again, she can’t really imagine it otherwise.

0000

“One year what?” she asks him that night. He’s come over, just as he does every Thursday night, their unofficial date night, after practice. She’s got an 8 a.m. on Friday ( _as if fate weren’t cruel enough toward her_ ), so he spends the night and watches Audrey while she’s in class come morning.

As she’s gotten older, Emma’s taken to bundling up Audrey and meeting Ruby at the gym, keeping up the tradition of gawking and ogling at their respective men. They’d braved the weather today and her daughter slept nearly the entire time, but the smile on Killian’s face when he saw both of them walking down the bleachers, she decided it was completely worth it.

His hair’s still wet from his shower when Killian chuckles. “Swan, what day is it?”

She thinks about it, but gets distracted with putting a sleeping baby down. “Umm, the eighth? The ninth?” The baby down, she ushers him out of her room and into the living room and whips her phone from her back pocket. “February 8th,” she confirms. “What happened a year ago today?”

“Well, a year ago today, I was walking from my dorm room to the men’s restroom, getting ready for practice when I walked past the girls’ room, I heard someone inside crying.”

Her eyebrows raise. “You know the date that you creepily came into the bathroom and found me in the shower and told me I was pregnant?”

Killian sighs dramatically and takes her hands. “What’s Audrey’s birthday?”

“September 3rd.”

“What day did you leave for London?”

“June 27th.”

He gives her a wry smile. “Don’t you remember the dates where your entire life changes?”

She opens her mouth to quip back, but finds herself speechless.

When she does find them, she does all she can to make them mean something. “There’s a quote I read once-”

“Swan, when do you have time to read?” Killian interrupts her with a raise of his brow.

“Shut up,” she mumbles. Taking a breath, she tries again. “There’s a quote I read once that goes ‘meeting you was fate. Becoming your friend was a choice…” And here, she starts to choke up. It’s not like she’s afraid of what she’s trying to say, but there’s much more at stake now. She can’t think for only herself now: Audrey is her first and foremost concern now and the mere idea of her growing up without Killian around is inconceivable.

It’s a leap she has to take, jump into the deep end and hope she doesn’t hurt herself.

“But falling in love with you-”

“Was beyond my control,” he helpfully finishes for her. His hands squeeze hers as they hang between them.

“So you’ve heard of it.”

“Indeed I have,” he says with a nod. “I usually find it corny and contrived, but it sounds much sweeter coming from your lips.”

She hums, her arms wrapping around his waist. “Why, thank you.”

“No, thank you.” He kisses her then, bends at the neck as she pushes up on her toes to meet him.

It’s heartwarming, knowing that he just knows without her actually having to say those words. It’s nice knowing that he’s not going anywhere for a long time, that he’s devoted enough to them that he cut his vacations home shorter to get back to her quicker, invited his brother over more often to see the baby, come home with her for at least part of Christmas holiday just to be with her. With _them_.

She hasn’t told him Audrey was barely three weeks old when she applied for a passport on her daughter’s behalf, fully intending to go back with him at some point over the summer to meet her uncle Liam. That this dynamic, him and her and her daughter, are her family now, more than her parents or her friends. They’re young, she knows, and it’s silly to be this dedicated to someone at this age.

That doesn’t stop her from doing it anyways.

Because he knows her: knows that she’s scared more than she’ll admit. Knows that when she snaps it’s because she has a term paper and a colicky child that keep her up way past her bed time. And she knows him. Knows that, despite everything, she and Audrey rank right up there with schoolwork and above boxing. Knows that he’s not truly responsible in raising her daughter with her, that he knows he’s free to leave at any time, but he’s invested, has been from the start. Knows that, even if she does end up with some other guy, _though, honestly, I doubt I will_ , Killian’s going to be Audrey’s primary father figure.

And he won’t have it any other way.

Frankly, neither will she.

The little monster herself decides at that moment she’s hungry and cries out. Emma sighs and separates from Killian’s warmth. She turns to fetch Audrey, but he grabs her by the elbow.

“Let me deal with soothing her.”

He disappears for a moment before reappearing, Audrey cuddled close to his chest. “Hey there, baby Swan,” he murmurs. “Did you miss me? Were you good for your mama?”

“Baby Swan?” Emma asks, a hand wrapping around his bicep. She’s heard him use the nickname before, but never around her, always under his breath. “Really? What happened to Pudge?”

“Come now, Swan, it only make sense.” Killian scoffs, faking exasperation. “She’s not just a pudge anymore, she’s a person. She’s your daughter, you’re my Swan. Thus, she’s my baby Swan.”

“Your baby Swan?”

He nods and looks back at her daughter, bouncing her a little bit in his hold. “My baby Swan.”

“And I’m your Swan?”

He chuckles, pulls her close, and kisses her for what seems like forever. “Always my Swan.”


End file.
